Hallelujah
by saison
Summary: There's a familiar face at the BAU. Even though many don't remember Flo, Spencer just can't seem to forget her. I suck royally at summaries. OC pairing. Previous title: "Continuous."
1. Chapter 1

**__****Author's Note: **

Hey, this is my first published Criminal Minds Fanfiction. I have one on Mibba, but otherwise... I have a few chapters typed up, and since I'm on summer break, you can expect updates nearly everyday from me. The story is set around 4x19 "House on Fire." And it will progress through Seasons 4, 5, 6, 7, and so on...

Anyways, I won't bore you to death. Reviews are nice, and they make me smile.

As always, I don't own any of this. If I did, I wouldn't be so poor.

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**_"What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from." T.S. Elliott._**

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Pacing into the BAU, there were so many things that were different about this visit. Whether it be the modest clothes I wore, or the sanity I had acquired since 'then,' the busyness of the atmosphere enticed me. Everyone was rushing from one place to the next, unlike me, who was just strolling back and forth.

I knew I was supposed to be heading somewhere, but you have to savor all the tiniest details. It wasn't something I did when I was here last. This was going to be my new home more or less. Knocking quietly on the office door, a stern voice beckoned, "Come in."

Shaking, I walked into the room. Along the mahogany bookcase was sparse picture frames. Looking towards the desk, his hand motioned me to sit down in the generic gray chairs. "Good morning Agent Hotchner," I greeted, smiling the widest I could without passing into creepy territory.

"Please, it's Hotch," He insisted, staring down into the papers. "Agent Carter," he mused sifting through the stack to hand me my things. "Here's your gun, a Glock 19, make sure it is functional," he ordered making eye contact with me to prove the point. "Here are papers that you just have to sign," he sat down a thin packet compared to those on his desk. Taking a deep breath, he handed me the credentials I had been waiting long for, "And here is your creds, you must use these from now on," he gestured to my student credentials hanging off of my shirt pocket.

"Anything else?" I raised my eyebrow, testing his limits.

Shaking his head, he continued with the speech, "Your desk will be labeled 5B, and then you can meet the rest of the team," he suggested, "Have a good first day Agent Carter."

"You have a good day Agent Hotchner," I pushed the chair in, waving as I left his office. Descending the steps from the overhang, I snooped around for desk 5B. Not being able to find it, much less the numbers, I sighed in defeat. Deciding not to give up so soon, I made a loop around the desks one more time, someone coughed to get my attention. "Sorry," I apologized.

"I don't think students get desks," the man stated matter-of-factly. His shinny chocolate colored hair

Biting my lip, I flipped open my newly attained creds, "I'm looking for my desk," I grinned.

"Sorry," he put his hands up in defeat and sustained a giggle. "5B right?" he questioned, raising his eyebrow.

Folding my arms across my chest, I nodded, "Yes." Pointing over to his left where a lanky man was standing, he sighed.

"That's Reid over there, and your desk is to the right of his," he beamed happily. "You really have the cred flip down," he joked, rubbing his temple. It caught my attention that this person had worked my case, but I couldn't remember his name.

"Florence Carter," I introduced, looking upwards at him. Heavens, he was tall.

"Derek Morgan," he extended his arm to shake my hand. Taking it, I was fearful his hand was going to crush mine.

Smiling, noticing my manicure was still intact, I stated, "See you around?"

"Guess so," Morgan shrugged his shoulders. Biting my lip, I shuffled back and forth on my heels. Ambling around the corner of the hordes of desks, I quickly spun around.

"Thanks again Derek," I called, then continuing towards desk 5B.

Over his shoulder, before he made his way up the stairs, he smiled, "No problem Sunshine."

Blushing, I headed over to my desk. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out the few things I had brought from home and began arranging them on the surface. Reid wasn't acknowledging my presence, and that was an excellent thing. His face and name were the most familiar to me. Reaching up to my chest pocket, I unclipped the student credentials and attached my brand new identification card.

"I remember doing that for the first time," the familiar voice to my right chuckled. Blushing hastily, I turned my face to look at him without thinking.

"I like to think of it as a shiny target," I laughed nervously, rotating my head back downwards again.

Coughing quietly, Reid leaned up against his desk. I felt his eyes trained on me, like he was studying my every move. "Florence Adrianne Carter," he hummed barely audible; "It's been a while."

My heart dropped, he did remember me. Sighing, I claimed, "It has," I looked at him for a minute. Instead of facing him hunched over a desk, I choose to stretch out my body like his and lean against the structure.

"You've changed," he admitted, gulping quickly. Glancing down at his shoes, the bustle of the morning in the bullpen was at its peak.

Biting my lip, I laughed a little. I had changed tremendously. "Hopefully for the better Dr. Reid," I poked at him, trying to test his limits as I had with Hotch.

"You're twenty two now right?" he asked, sitting down on the wooden tabletop. Refusing to make eye contact with him, I continued to look at the nameplate behind his back.

Shrugging my shoulders, I sighed, "Just twenty two."

"That's very young for a SSA," Spencer noted, raising his eyebrows in emphasis. "Who's your Unit Chief?"

"I'm sure you're not too much older than me," I stated callously. "Agent Hotchner," I added to answer his query.

Shaking his head, smirking, he replied, "Twenty seven." Noting that he didn't have his glasses, I gave him a check on the fashion report card. Those things were really outdated.

"Meaning the last time I saw you, you were twenty three," I formulated, stabbing his remark of my age.

"Drug specialist and Adolescent advocate," he squinted at my credential. "Sounds like something you'd like," he suggested, crossing his arms.

Biting my lip, I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or a degrading. Holding my head high, I exhaled loudly, as my nostrils flared characteristically. "I'll take that as a compliment," I jumbled together, twisting the ring on my finger habitually.

"Engaged?" He questioned, staring at my hands.

Showcasing my hand for him, I nodded. Embarrassment filled my cheeks in the form of blood rushing my face, "Yeah," I gushed.

A blonde twenty something walked up towards us, "Welcome Agent Carter, I'm the media liaison, Jenifer Jareau, or JJ," she shook my hand without me extending it. "Good morning, Spence," she smiled at Reid. Rolling my eyes, I gripped my leather bag's straps and brought the tote over my shoulder. Continuing onwards, she gestured behind her, "We have a case, so be in the conference room in five."

"Nice playing catch up," I sneered at Reid, gathering my stuff off my desk that I would need.

Flinging the one bag he had over his shoulder, he exhaled loudly. "I'm glad you turned your life around," he admitted. Walking towards the end of our row, I stopped for a millisecond for him to catch up.

"I'm glad you gave me that sandwich."


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: Alright, Updates are going to be way more frequent and longer beginning Chapter 4. Sorry. Thank you for reading my story! Reviews? :P_

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**_"I heard a definition once: Happiness is health and a short term memory. I wish I'd invented it because it is true." ~Audrey Hepburn._**

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After the briefing, I wasn't in any mood to have any sort of food—those pictures stayed in my mind. Boarding the plane, I had my phone out, dialing the number over and over again. Victor wouldn't be up before one o'clock if his mother was dying, so why would he be now?

"What?" he grumbled, picking up the phone? I could imagine him cussing all the way to get his cell phone ringing at nine in the morning.

"I'm going to be in Indiana for a couple of days," I explained calmly. Hearing a long groan and an extended period of silence over the phone, I knew in my gut this wasn't going to be a good trip. Taking the final step up, I was introduced to a nicely furnished cabin. Sitting in the first section I reached, I awaited an answer from my reluctant husband-to-be.

"Already?" he sighed, "Damn babe," he slandered.

"Hey now," I warned him, hoping to all things holy that no one heard his cursing but me.

Laughing, I knew he had something up his sleeve that would bite me in the butt. "Alright mom, I just have a very colorful vocabulary, fuck you very much," he giggled. Rolling my eyes, I just had to live with two boys.

"Seriously, no frat boy adventures in the house 'kay? Make sure you tell Harrison that," I ordered, he might take it as a joke, but I sure as hell didn't.

"Aww, I had the keg and everything," he groaned. Vic actually sounded hung-over. His voice was low, and all the growls proved my theory.

Gritting my teeth, it was a debacle to construct a reply to that. "Sarcasm aside, please keep the house decent," I crossed my fingers praying he didn't forget this.

"Fine, the things I do for love," he muttered into the speaker. Smiling, I was pretty sure I blushed seventy shades of rosy.

Rolling my eyes, I commented, "Nevertheless you're blinded by it."

"Whatever," Vic grunted, "Be safe."

"I'll try," I laughed, "Love you."

"As I do you, bye," Vic cooed into the phone. For someone so bitterly sarcastic, he had a fluffy side. That side wasn't rare either. I'm just a lucky girl. Crossing my legs, I flipped through the case files.

Thirty one people killed, in one Movie Theater. Obviously it was obsession; something set this person off in Royal, Indiana. Was it the whole community, or did he just miss the target three times? Slipping into the section was Agent Prentiss. "Hey," she waved, giving me an unexpected cordial welcome for her set jaw and authority etched features.

"Hi," I cowered, but still trying to sound like I actually had a pair. "None of this makes sense?" I laughed nervously as Rossi took the seat next to me. Scanning over the geographical sections of the packet, I scrunched my eyebrows together.

Dave chuckled, crossing his leg over another. Rolling his eyes, he began to look at his, "It never does." Scaring me, his voice echoed seniority. This was what I was afraid of, being the burden. Another person claimed the seat next to Prentiss. Staring at the shoes, it was Reid. Sighing a tad louder than I should, I laid the file on the table.

"Confusing you?" Reid taunted, but the way he said it made him seem innocent. Digging my nails into my palm, I brought my head up. His eyes were tempting me to spill, start an immature little spat here in the cabin, but I couldn't. Not only was this the first day on the job, I was the minor here.

Rolling my eyes, Prentiss glanced at me, then Spencer. After a few times, she met Rossi's gaze and a grin twitched at the corners of their mouths. "The tension could be cut with a knife," Agent Rossi muttered, opening a book up.

"That's a pretty big ring there," Prentiss commented, pointing to my left hand. Smirking she darted her eyes subtly to Reid, and then refocused back to me. "Who's the lucky lad?" she queried, words rolling off her tongue like it was dirty.

Blushing, I stole a quick glimpse at the chocolate diamond Victor gave me a couple of years ago. There wasn't a day that passed by that I didn't gush over it. "His name's Victor," I replied, smiling like a goon. Spencer rolled his eyes and flipped between pages extremely fast.

Emily nodded, "He work in the bureau?" she questioned. It would've made sense, because relationships don't last in this kind of life.

"No, he's an aspiring musician," I laughed quietly, let's put emphasis on aspiring. "You have any significant others?" I asked, trying not to sound prying.

Emily shook her head and giggled, "That's cute," she laughed. After her sarcastic comment, she added, "No, I'm not sure anyone on the plane is in a relationship," she answered, biting her lip. Sighing, I knew the stakes were high, but I loved him. I loved Victor a lot.

"Well I can always just have a lot of cats if it doesn't work out," I shrugged my shoulders. Emily chortled in amusement, nodding as if she understood.

"Pretty boy over here just has the romance walk right up to him," Morgan added to the conversation from across the aisle. Spencer still trained on his print, flushed red. Biting my lip to refrain from laughing, I uncrossed my legs and picked back up the case.

Spencer, clearing his throat, flipped the pages and looked back up. "That was only once…" he defended, dog earring the page to lean over his armrest to retrieve something from his bag. Pulling out a case file, his face twisted and contorted with each section he read.

Really? I was observing him now? Getting back to my own work, I needed to decide what was important, a burning animosity, or the community of Royal, Indiana. The jet engine roared to life and I reached around to buckle my seatbelt in. Hopefully, I'd be able to tune out all of the negative feeds I was receiving from the smug man nearby.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Thank you guys for reading! I'm actually going to get back to posting regularly. Sorry about that. Enjoy!

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**_"Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean." ~Maya Angelou._**

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"When life gives you oil, make Molotovs," I murmured, Reid shook his head in response.

"That's not what I was getting at," he retorted. Jetting away, I turned around to look over the case one last time, something wasn't right. And no, it wasn't just the fiery hate that now existed between Spencer and I.

Morgan tapped my shoulder, causing me to jolt in my own skin. "Sorry," he held his hands out in defense. Rolling my eyes, I flipped my hand to give him the signal to continue. "You and Spencer certainly know how to complement each other," he poked fun. Though it was interpreted as a joke, there were much too serious undertones for it to be even close to one.

"Ehh, I don't know what ticked him off," I shrugged, moving towards the board with Morgan. Tacking up new pictures, I pounded the tacks into the cork. "Whatever it is, it's making this a pain in the ass," I gestured towards the evidence board Spencer and I had been working on.

Morgan sighed, leaning up against the table covered in layers of papers and files. "No one really knows how his mind works," he restated the obvious. Thankfully, Spencer was out of earshot when he came stomping over there. "Hopefully you can work it out," Derek smiled, leaving me alone with Reid. Way to throw me under the bus.

"Did Morgan have any say on the board?" Reid asked sharply, tacking up several more facts Garcia had established. Shaking my head, I went back to the table and awaited our next call. Really waiting, I needed a white knight to come save me from this pile of work. Spencer froze in front of the board.

"What?" I questioned, he pulled out his vibrating cell phone and answered it. A brief conversation went under, and it wasn't sounding cheery. Hanging up and throwing it back into his pocket he looked at me for a split second.

"We've got to go," he hurriedly spewed. Grabbing the keys off of the table that he forgot, I followed him through the police station. Upon reaching the door, he flung it open in a hurry without calculating my position. Thank god I had average reflexes.

He dug around in his pocket for a set of keys that lay dandily in my palm. Pressing the unlock key, I butted in front of Spencer to crawl into the driver's seat. Sulking, visibly pissed, he knew that he didn't have time to argue. Rotating the key in the ignition, I beamed devilishly to myself. Flicking on the lights, I waited for Spencer to make his way to open the passenger door.

As soon as the door pulled together, I made no wait to back up hastily and speed into the street. "What was that for?" Spencer scoffed, slipping into his vest.

Shrugging my shoulders, I turned left like the PDA instructed. Placing a firm grip on the wheel with my left hand, I pulled the right sleeve of my vest on. "This is not even close to safe," he complained, tightening the straps.

"Take a walk on the wild side," I snidely muttered, performing the same procedure with my left side. Spencer just stared angrily into the windshield. "Seriously, what did I do?" I asked, turning the final corner. Switching the lights off in case Tommy would startle at the sight, Reid just looked at me. I couldn't return the fiery gaze because my eyes had to be trained on the road.

Stopping right outside, they had Tommy in cuffs. We arrived too late. Spencer hopped out of the passenger anyways. Strapping the Velcro together, I got out of the cruiser as well. "No one was hurt right?" I asked Prentiss, lingering at the scene.

"Nope, Rossi said he let the match burn out," she casually stated like it was nothing. Leaning up against the SUV beside her, I watched Morgan and Reid's conversation. Occasionally, they'd stare back to me. You didn't have to be a profiler to see what was going on. "Anyways, Hotch says we're leaving in an hour or two," she simply stated, relaxing her head against the cool glass.

Stretching, I sighed, I missed the conclusion of my first case. "You and Reid alright?" Prentiss asked, mirroring my movements. Shaking my head, a small laugh left my lips. Nothing was ever easy in my world.

"If passive aggressive is alright, then sure," I smirked, taking a quick glance at Spencer. "I swear, if I knew what I did…" I hummed, trying to imply that I would apologize. But would I?

Prentiss shook her head, turning her head to study the two men standing next to a SUV Hotch and Rossi had used. Dryly laughing, she agreed, "You never know." What an understatement. My phone in my pocket buzzed, flipping it open, I saw a picture of the house. Surprisingly, the countertops were clean and the white walls had no stains or new paint splatters. It was from Harrison, that condescending butt wipe. Closing the message, I trained my attention back to Prentiss.

Biting my lip, not knowing whether or not it would be awkward to say anything, I shuffled on my feet momentarily. "Yeah, I was really worried this week because the last time I was gone this long my house was a wreck," I confided in her, spitting out my worries instead of letting them resonate internally.

"Wild crew?" she questioned, laughing slightly. Her voice was nasal, almost foreign in a way.

Nodding my head, I smirked a tad. "Yeah," I smiled. Now I really just wanted to get on the plane and fly home as soon as possible.

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It was entirely too late for me to be up on this plane. But, I was pushing through the reports so I could actually spend time with the boys upon arrival. Reid was doing the same, and despite our squabbles, he was sitting across from me in the same section. Coughing lightly, I tried to get his attention. "You're actually awake?" he asked, with borderline rudeness evident in his voice.

"Look, I'm actually doing something productive as well," I joked, trying to make light between us. Smirking, Spencer wasn't amused with my comment. "You aren't who you used to be," I noted, putting down the paperwork. Crossing my legs, I felt like Morpheus was going to claim me anytime soon.

Frowning, he rubbed his eyes. That didn't look like it made him irate, but I could feel the wrath. "Well, it happens," he remarked, sequestering something below the surface.

"I just don't want to bicker every case," I yawned, draining the final bit of coffee in the mug. Usually I couldn't endure the stuff, but I swallowed down enough to feel animate. "I mean, I'm sure I did something really stupid," I admitted, letting a side of the old me show.

Sighing, Reid looked up from his paperwork. Like I did earlier, he put it down on the table. "What makes you think that?" he crossed his arms moodily, like he had points to verify.

"Smart people don't hold stupid grudges," I smirked, putting the cool mug on the table top. Staring him down, he appeared thrown back by the answer I gave him.

Grinning like he had accomplished a life goal, I got worried. What was he going to say? I basically just complimented him, and told him that he was smarter than me. Which, he was, but it was fastidious of me to restate the universal fact. "And what's the difference between a smart grudge and a stupid grudge?" he chuckled softly, making sure he didn't startle anyone.

Giggling, I rolled my eyes, was there a difference? That was some prophetic bull crap I put together on whim. Biting my tongue, I had to think of something that wouldn't make me sound completely incompetent. "That's a rhetorical question," I blabbed. After all, those were the kind Spencer preferred to answer.

"Does that mean it shouldn't be answered?" Reid raised his eyebrows. No, it shouldn't, that was the answer. But when you think about it, why would philosophers exist if you couldn't answer these questions. At a time in the past, 'Is the Earth round?' was a rhetorical question. Now, it's a universal fact like Reid's intelligence compared to mine.

Pointing my finger at him, I grinned. "You win," I defeated. Sleep deprivation and multi faceted layers of thought weren't good partners.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note: Sorry for the wait... So I have two chapters up at once (also this one is shy of 1,300 words- short.) Thank you for the Reviews, it's nice to get feedback. _

_So if you would be so kind to review... That would be amazing. And as always, I don't claim to own/own Criminal Minds. _

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**_"After you find out all the things that can go wrong, your life becomes less about living and more about waiting." ~Chuck Palahniuk_**

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Nearing the end of the long work day, I had leaned back in my desk chair to admire the ceiling. There were white tiles, whitish brown tiles, even some odd blue ones. There's really nothing of importance to do on days like these. Hindsight told me I should've called in sick and partied all day with the boys. We could've been planning the procrastinated wedding.

That was a fantasy, and it only took one case to figure that out. Lands of white dresses, pretty flowers, and veils were far out of reach. Maybe it was cold feet, or it was probably harsh reality. Victor loved me, and I cared deeply for him. Scratch that, I love Victor more than the impending doom of a career that I have. Yet, I don't love either enough to take an easier road.

He was never supportive of my efforts to become this. The four years I had gotten my act together, met him, and settled down here, that was the prime of my life. We were always together, bound at the hip. Just going to work all this week and last, it has been challenging. Challenging, that is, for him.

I'm preoccupied playing the heroine complex, and he's sitting home griping about me being away. Last time I checked, I made the money, I brought home the bacon, he was the one that wanted to fulfill his dream. Excuse me, but his dream isn't reality. His dreams of becoming some rock god are about on the same level as us getting married.

Shaking my head, I couldn't believe my words. How could I be so mean? After all the obstacles I've thrown at him, he still loves me. The fact that I don't support his dream gives him no right to support mine. My fatal flaw is being so judgmental.

The question Reid asked me on the plane still drilled in my skull. Which questions deserve answering? There was a lot of thinking going through my thick skull about truth, lies, and trustworthiness over the past day or so. Just as I remembered that, Reid clicked his pen. Every noise was amplified because I was on edge, nervous to get home. "You alright?" he asked over the divider. Surely, it wasn't normal to see an Agent with her head slouched over the back of her office chair.

"Just watching the ceiling," I laughed gently. Everyone in the bullpen was humming silently, or on the phone talking to victims, doing the routine follow ups. Everyone that is, except for Reid and I, and whatever Morgan, Hotch, and JJ do in their offices.

Spencer tapped on his desk, which irritated me even further. Bringing my arm up in front of my face, I read the time, 4:45, only a matter of minutes before I get to leave this place. "Why?" he questioned, leaning back in his chair as well.

"I'm looking for birds," I joked, returning to normal posture. Hopefully he wouldn't think I was weird for saying that, but it was Reid. Why would I care if he thought I was weird?

Gritting my teeth, I realized it was a damn rhetorical question. That wasn't going to leave me anytime soon. Like an annoying child, it would hassle me all day until I knew the answer. The phone on my desk buzzed, and before Spencer could reply, I picked it up. "Supervisory Special Agent Florence Carter, how may I help you?" I greeted, hearing the two deep giggles from the other side of the line.

"Hey babe," the voice soothed, Victor. Smiling widely and blushing way more than I should have, I'm pretty sure Spencer was concerned for my health. Pangs of nervousness rang out in my heart similar to church bells. Whether they be from the 'butterflies' or the guilt I had accrued, it didn't feel so great.

"We're still going out tonight?" Tapping the pen on the desk, I bit my lip. He better say yes, or else. Inconveniently, my palms became clammy in anticipation for the answer.

Victor sighed; he was going to say no, I knew it. After the past week of not doing anything and him complaining about it, he was going to say no. "Sorry babe," he whined, like he was being deprived. Hello there, I have been the subject of your tirades for the past month or so.

Rolling my eyes, I completely lost it. If I wasn't a work, there'd be no rhetorical question of whether or not he'd get cussed out and thrown out of the bedroom tonight. "Whatever," I crudely remarked. Pressing the button on the machine, I knew he'd get pissy about that gesture. Vic loathed people who hung up on him.

Putting the phone on the cradle, a wedding was out of reach. No white dresses, cake testing, reception planning times in my future. I'd be lucky if we went to the courthouse, if we even made it past the engagement.

Was I really doubting us? Wouldn't love be enough? Groaning loudly, I began marking on the whiteboard hanging up to my left. "That didn't sound good," Reid observed.

"Yeah, just got date dumped," I muttered, habitually peering up at the ceiling. What was so imperative that Victor had to call off the date? Music? If it was that, then he could've picked it up as soon as we got home. Why was it so hard? This was the result of many long, tedious, rants delivered by him on why I should go out with him more often.

Reid coughed slightly. None of this was his business, unless I told him it was. And in reality, I wasn't comfortable with him being my relations councilor. Once more, I pulled the watch up to my face, 4:50. This time though, I realized I didn't actually want to leave. "Date dumped?" he chortled awkwardly. That's right; Reid wasn't down on the urban lingo.

"Victor cancelled the date after complaining of not going out at all this week," I laughed at the irony. Irony was the only thing funny about it all. When I got home though, irony was going to be karma. Before he could answer, I asked, "You want to go?"

Staring at me for a split second, his face was confused. It was cute in a way, even though the gesture wasn't romantic. "It's an Indian restaurant," I explained further, trying to get him to say yes. Wouldn't it be too much heartbreak to get stood up twice?

That was a rhetorical question. Spencer please don't read my thoughts and answer it. Something surprised me when he essentially nodded his head. "I actually like Indian food," he claimed, clicking his pen a final time. One thing that really ticked me off was that.

"Alright, I've just got to change..." I grabbed my bag, "Meet me at the West exit in ten?" Picking up my bag of clothes from my desk drawer, I pushed the chair beneath my personal BAU prison cell.

Spencer nodded, smiling slightly. How long had it been since he'd been out? Probably not long, he had to have a girlfriend. People like him usually fly off of the market fairly fast, just saying. "Sure, thank you," he responded as I began walking away. Blushing, I waved as I walked up the stairs. Scurrying into the women's bathroom as soon as I reached the overhang, I choose the larger stall.

Kicking off the black heels I was wearing all day, I sighed in relief. They weren't the most comfortable item of clothing. Slipping into flats and a floral dress, I felt feminine again. Peering at myself in the mirror, I actually liked what I saw. Strawberry blonde, mid length, curly locks, framed around a white face with blue eyes. She wasn't a bombshell, but she wasn't butt ugly.

Removing myself from the mirror, I washed my hands and retreated towards the exit. Without a second thought, I rushed down the stairs of the overhang to get my things from my desk.

West Exit, here I come.


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's note: As typical... reviews are awesome! This one's a bit longer._

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_**"The world is not ready for some people when they show up, but that shouldn't stop anyone." ~Ashly Lorenzana**_

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"Hey," he greeted, leaning up against the pole. Brushing a section of my hair out of my face, I blushed. Being a little odd of eleven minutes late or so, Spencer hadn't left. That was a good sign; he didn't come to present sympathy.

"I'm sorry," I quickly apologized, pulling out directions from Google. "You want to ride together, or…?" I suggested, it was right outside the city. For me, it didn't make any sense to drive with Spencer because of the distance from Quantico from home. Tonight though, nothing was making sense. Essentially, I was an engaged woman initiating a date.

"I can drive separately, but…" he paused, nervously. Rolling my eyes, I thought it would be an opportune moment to interrupt Spencer for the first time in history.

Pursing my lips, I fiddled around in my purse. Pulling out the print-out directions, I forced them into his clutches, "Here you go just the address and such." He unfolded them and studied the picture. With his crazy memory, Spencer was probably very good at directions. Unlike me, everywhere was wonderland, a new rabbit hole to stumble into.

"Thanks," he smirked, folding it back up to stick in his back pocket. Wind whistled around the cool spring night. Gray watercolor skies dripped around the frames of trees. "I'll meet you there?" he raised his eyebrows, staring around everywhere except my face.

"Sure," I laughed nervously, "Thank you Spencer," I echoed, flinging my bag over my shoulder. He was adjusting his own bag, which was entirely too big for someone like Spencer.

Spencer shrugged his shoulders. His eyes diverted someplace more towards me instead of to the left. "Thank you, see you later," he trailed, walking off in a hurry to his left. Biting my lip, I watched out of the corner of my eye to see what was happening. After all, I was only a profiler, god forbid it be in my nature.

He rounded the corner before doing anything, or meeting anyone. Exhaling, to only watch the small cloud from my lips leave, I ventured through the lot. Finding my black Toyota, I groaned at the dents in the side. Life's a 'beach.'

* * *

Drapes lined the wall elegantly, this place was so grand. It screamed upper middle class, which I was a part of—ironically. Staring at the menu, I was lost. Spencer was at the bathroom, and I was here, as simple as it was. Crossing my fingers under the table, I prayed to ever god I knew about that the waiter wasn't going to come over right now.

He didn't, and my heart took a breath, but Spencer invited himself back to the booth. "You found anything you like?" Spencer raised his eyebrows in query. Flipping through the menu pointlessly, I decided I'd have the cheapest thing I could find.

"I haven't read anything this complicated since my SAT," I chuckled, putting the menu down. Reid copied my movements and stared at me, straight in my eyes. It was weird, he doesn't do that. His SAT probably wasn't even that challenging. "But I think I'm going to get the Momo things," I admitted, glancing momentarily over to the bar. Rotating my neck back, he was still staring off into space.

Sipping on my water sub consciously, the waitress was my savior. "Are you two ready to order?" She questioned, peering over the notepad she had.

"I'll have the Momo thingy," I blushed, trying to speak with my hands. Passing the menu down the black table, it made a 'swoosh' sound. Spencer jabbered about something but I ignored it. Somehow, I didn't find that vital. Smiling, and expressing something with her hands, the waitress vocalized the general goodbye.

Spencer looked at me again, "Everything alright?" he asked, turning his head a tad bit to the left. Training myself back into socialization, I had a difficult time trying to answer that. Maybe I was overreacting, but then again—maybe it's reality.

"Yes, just letting my mind wander," I replied, he had to know what that felt like. That feeling that you have twenty things going on at one time and all of them make sense. Everything your brain utters makes complete sense, and you've got to focus on one of them.

Spencer shook his head, in agreement or in knowing I'll never be able to tell. My mind at the moment was focused on all the harrowing nightmares that have recently plagued me. Without thinking, I blurted, "You get nightmares?"

Spencer raised his eyebrows and moved closer. "What was that?" he coughed slightly.

"Do you get nightmares?" I questioned again, blushing. There were times I wish I could die from all the blood that likes to scurry to my cheekbones. Leaning back, he played with his hands on the table.

He nodded, quite grimly. Blinking my eyes, I saw the fire, it never left. "Do they ever go away?" I commented, attempting not to answer questions with questions. Especially if they were rhetorical, damn it!

"Rossi said he still has them, he endured them even when he was in retirement," Spencer informed me. I'm pretty sure at this point my eyes got really dilated. Rossi had to be fifty at the least; I couldn't even begin to fathom it. Me, at fifty years old, if I got there, still reliving all of this. Rubbing my temple, it was encouraging to know that.

Smirking, I laughed as much as I could manage. "I feel like I just sold my soul away, 'ya know?" I admitted, feeling dreadful after the eleven words left my head. People out there would kill for my job, the money that I earned.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" Spencer proposed, the twitch of his eye letting me know this was a game. Laughing slightly, I sipped form my drink.

Tapping my fingers for a moment, getting bored with that, I studied my nails. "Do rhetorical questions deserve answers Dr. Reid?"

Biting his lip, I had won so far. Instrumental music buzzing quietly in the background infiltrated my thoughts. It made me think of him, Victor. Victor would be blazing angry about this fiasco. Oh well, I mentally shrugged. "I think they do," he chortled, and I agreed with him.

"It was stuck in my head all week," I confessed, giggling more than I should have for the setting. One woman looked over uncouthly, gawking as she sipped her fruity drink.

Reid gazed at me for a moment, raising his eyebrows characteristically. "What has?" he solicited, not letting any clues escape to his reasoning for questioning me.

"Whether a rhetorical question should be answered or not," I peered down, shuffling my toes anxiously in my shoes. Did it really matter if Reid thought I was weird, after all, it's _Reid_…

Flushing, his face turned an awkward shade a rosy red. It was so… Cute… I couldn't help but release a sequestered toothy beam. "Annnd…?" he folded his hands on the cool marble.

Rolling my eyes, I didn't know what to say. Spencer was talking on philosophical terms. Me? I was just playing around; the most in depth thing I had to ever think about was whether or not black went with brown. "I like thinking that all rhetorical questions should be answered, but what if that answer doesn't exist?" I proposed, feeling proud of what I had made up on whim.

"You're smarter than you give yourself credit for," Spencer complimented, falsely. We both knew that I was no prodigy. Maybe I was a small percent ahead of average. I was not special; I was just another copy of a million other people in this world. Even though I shouldn't be having these thoughts because I am reformed, I do. Because in brevity, that's life.

But like any compliment I receive, I blushed. "Thank you," I spoke lowly, trying not to acknowledge that he just uttered that. Elongating his spine, he stretched to a position that made him appear comfortable, but not improper.

"Still don't know how to take a compliment?" Spencer asked, quite callously in nature. Other than the fact his eyes and demeanor didn't suggest foul play, I would've took immediate offense and cussed him. Depressing part about the entirety of the circumstance, it was the truth.

Unrolling the utensils, I placed the napkin in my lap. Taking a sip of my drink in hopes Spencer would change the topic before I was finished, he didn't. Damn, he was persistent tonight. "I don't think I ever will," I admitted, focusing down on my shoes. The mood traveled drastically south into darker regions. That was a demon in me that I accepted long ago. Might as well make light of your decisions and move on already.

"Traditionally, Indian food is cooked with no animal fat," Spencer informed, switching the subject. Mentally, my mind made note to thank him later. Those heavier topics weighed me down, and I had enough things on my back right now.

Smiling, I decided to put forth the limited information I knew on the table, "Indian food is traditionally vegetarian." Smirking, I watched as Spencer nodded in agreement. Even though I refused to accept that he thought I was smart, it was nice to know I could interact with him. Watching a tray of food pass me, I knew it wasn't ours. Yet, my eyes still felt inclined to follow it. Aromas came and danced under my nose, making the hunger noticeable. I could live; I'd been through much worse.

"Spices typically found in the food could prevent cancer, India has one of the lowest cancer rates in the world," Spencer mused, taking a sip of his drink. Cancer- that was such a pleasant thing to be chatting about during dinner. Much to my disclosure, the waitress came and dispersed the dishes amongst us. Everything was divvied up between us correctly before she left. From the looks of it, I got Indian ravioli.

* * *

"Hey, I had fun," I smiled, facing Spencer. The parking lot buzzed with excitement, whether it be from the arriving party or the drunken men gathering around their trucks, it was stimulating. Rain threatened to pour; the air was humid and heavy so any sort of rain would be a blessing.

Spencer's face blanched the ghostly white contrasting heavily with the night sky. "It was fun," he stammered, shuffling on his feet. The drunks were laughing audibly, their howls echoing off of the windshields. They were the definition of belligerent, and a good time. Staring at my shoes nervously, I tried to figure out what to say.

Kissing noises erupted from the drunken horde. Blushing, I bit my lip and tried to refrain from throwing my bag at them. "Guess the bartenders here aren't light on the liquor," I commented, looking back up at him. His face was beet red, it was cute.

"Yeah, they're not," Spencer admitted, glancing to the apes. He had experience with this bar? Scandalous, something I never thought I would tag Reid as.

Deciding to brush it off, I giggled a little bit. "Thank you for coming, see you tomorrow?"

"Thank you," he expressed, "I guess I will," Spencer shrugged nonchalantly.

"Drive safe," I warned him, beginning to pace away. Driving wasn't going to be the least of my worries; I wasn't keen on leaving the parking lot.

"You too, have a good night," he called out, still walking towards his old car. Reaching mine, I closed the door and sighed heavily once I was in the privacy of the interior. Clutching my jacket close to my chest, I turned the key softly in the ignition. Lights flicked on and the radio roared to life. Some sad song was playing, something that reminded me of my wedding woes.

The impending fight tonight would be marvelous.


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: Yeah, she seems sort of Mary Sue-ish. *Sigh*, I'm going to have to fix that. Reviews, they'd be awesome! Enjoy!_

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**_"If Introversion is a disease, then can I please get a disability so I don't have to work with extroverts all the time?" ~Anonymous._**

* * *

Sitting on the plane, I surveyed the world below through the breaks in the clouds. There were a lot of things playing through my mind as the playlist continued. Case files littered the table, but mine were tucked away in my bag. We were landing in an hour or so, thankfully. My nerves were a live wire and my fingers wouldn't stop shaking. Pulling out my earphones in annoyance, I wrapped the cords around the iPod and discarded it into the bag at my feet.

"Antsy?" Prentiss questioned raising her head from her novel. Everyone was so lost in books on this plane, and I was lounging around gazing out a window.

Shrugging my shoulders, I shook my head. Was I really that noticeably agitated? "I'm fine, too much coffee," I explained, even though I hadn't had a drop of the liquid. Reality was too daunting to heighten it with caffeine.

"If you say so," Emily suggested, abandoning the conversation. Continuing to glare out the window, I couldn't help but notice it wasn't all too interesting. A few sparse breaks in the forests, open fields, more forests, it was like reading a manual.

Last night wasn't good. Victor had ditched our date so he could watch a re-airing of MTV: Unplugged, but apparently I was supposed to care because it was Nirvana. As much as I love Nirvana, he could've recorded it. Hell, he could've watched it online any other time. Apparently though, I wasn't important enough.

What really made me irate and unable to function was his response when I told him I went out with Spencer. He was furious, yelling and screaming directly to my face. Eventually, he stormed upstairs and locked the door. I won't play innocent, because I was hollering back and fueling the fire, but this is not how I imagined 'us.'

Morgan stretched out his legs and stood in the aisle. Reaching into the overhead compartment, he readied his stuff for the landing. Absentmindedly, I played with my ring. Taking it off felt so relieving. Slipping it back on, it felt like a lie encased my knuckles.

Don't get me wrong, I love Victor. He's been there with me; he's helped me in so many ways. Victor is a beautiful person inside and out, this is just a bump. Of all things holy and sacramental, I pray that this is just a minor bump that we'll laugh about one day. If it's not 'just' a bump- I don't know what I'm going to do with myself.

* * *

Morgan shuffled through the abduction scene where I followed. Scanning the room, there were so many possibilities for ecstasy to be distributed. "We're talking part time sinners here," I poked around, checking behind the bar. The evil side of me wanted to snatch this champagne.

"What makes you think that, Carter?" Morgan questioned, probing through the bar alongside me. Picking out an ecstasy tablet, I stuffed it in a bag. Even though it wasn't evidence for the pressing topic, we still had to collect them.

Shrugging my shoulders, about to explain myself, Morgan's ringtone went off. After a few minutes of dialogue, Derek had a deep frown etched on his face. "We're meeting Reid in the lobby," he informed, standing up with the evidence bags. Discarding them to the local police, I followed Morgan out of the club area and up into the lobby where Reid was pacing.

Folding my arms, I waited patiently in the doorframe. Observing the surroundings, I saw a man, about Reid's stature and build move about in the closet area behind the desk. Hearing the snippet of the conversation with the brunette, I concurred that this person's name was Adam. Reid and Morgan continued questioning the woman and I proceeded to observe. Her body language was overly friendly, she talked with her hands—a sign that she needed to explain everything completely. Not only this, but she didn't want to incessantly repeat herself.

If she was one of the unsubs, she might give herself away if I give her time. "Excuse me, but who are you?" she whipped around, pointing to me. Snapping out of my reverie, I reached around to grab my credentials.

"Agent Carter with the BAU, I'm with Agents Reid and Morgan," I announced, trying to assert my authority in the room.

Reid crossed his arms and glared at me, "It's Dr. Reid," he stated annoyingly. Way to succeed, I thought slyly to myself.

"Well, Agent Morgan and _Dr. Reid_," I reiterated, placing my credentials in my back pocket. Her pupils were typical sized, so she wasn't hitting up on the E's after shift. All in all, she seemed highly unlikely on the surface to kill those men. Ted Bundy was highly unlikely as well, and look at his chaos.

Crossing her arms, I noted her agitation with my company. But nevertheless, Spencer and Derek took over the conversation. Her eyes kept darting back to me; I remained silent in the door frame, my arms crossed. For some reason she wasn't concerned with Reid or Morgan, but she sensed my authority. It was quite blatant that she was sizing up authority with me. "Have any questions for me?" she asked, smiling falsely.

"You're actions speak louder than you're words Julie," I reminded her. She raised her eyebrows at the statement. Reid and Morgan stared over to me and had looks of perplexity on their faces. Without a doubt, I began to see Julie uncensored.

"And that's supposed to mean?" she patronized, replying to my cliché quite callously. Waiting several moments longer, I refused to take that as my final answer from Julie Riley. Her eyes challenged to hold my gaze in a fierce eye contact battle, but I rejected the possibility. "People say I'm aggressive…" she trailed off trying not to make much of the sub- conscious note.

"As far as I'm concerned, your aggression is equivalent to that of a Girl Scout," I jabbed, making sure I gauged her reaction. It almost seemed like a breath of fresh air that I said that to her, similar to a compliment. Julie was a dominant female, or at least a switch with boundaries. Overall, she didn't match the profile. "Adam's on the roof, right?" I inquired. Julie nodded her head and I lead Reid and Morgan who were politely saying their goodbye to Julie. Screw that, it didn't match my style.

Leaving, we began our ascent of the winding steps. "Someone's intense," Derek jabbed at me as I took the lead in front of the two men.

"Just my style," I shrugged, trying to shake the obstinate glare I felt on the back of my neck.

I could feel that Spencer wanted to say something, but it was probably something I didn't want to hear. Climbing the next flight in a hurry, he blurted out, "Were you even listening?" Jetting farther ahead of him, I ignored the remark until I laid my foot on the last step.

"I observe people," I replied, flinging the door open discreetly. On the edge of the building was the same man I saw earlier, he was looking out into the sparkling bay. He didn't seem to acknowledge my presence, and that was a good thing. Reid emerged from the inside, which prompted me to walk slowly towards Adam.

"Adam?" I spoke softly; worried that he may jump off the ledge. Instead he slowly turned around. His eyes were wide open. Garcia had informed us that he had drug charges as a juvenile. Adam Jackson was in no way sober at the present moment. If he somehow was, he would be going through a withdrawal. Spencer paced in front of me, taking control of the situation.

Morgan inched out of the doorway and advanced to where Spencer was. They assumed the dominant positions, as they did before. Fading into the background, some things never change. Paying attention to the questions, it was exigent to gauge his reactions because there wasn't any to observe. He was almost similar to Hotch, but he surely wasn't an alpha male. In every move he made, one could see the abuse like a flashing sign.

"Um… You've seen bad stuff right?" Adam questioned Spencer, staring at him with his bulging eyes. Strangely, if Reid had darker hair, he and Adam would be brothers. It was an eerie similarity. Ultimately, if I was in regular mode, I would have felt severe pity for Adam Jackson. This was profiler mode; I didn't show sympathy at all. In ways, I was a monster. But in order to think like monsters, to counteract monsters, wouldn't it be best to facilitate a monster?

"I have. Yeah," Spencer replied, pangs of guilt played up on his features. He had been in the FBI seven years, of course he'd seen evil.

Adam wasn't helping his innocence, or maybe I thought everyone was guilty. My persona was the opposite of 'innocent until proven guilty.' "How long before you can close your eyes without it being there?" he posed. Reid paused; it was a good question, one that deserved an answer. Ignoring the body language, I awaited Spencer's answer. It was almost like Adam asked that question for me.

"I'm afraid I still don't know," Spencer responded. So much for figuring that out.

During the car ride back to the station, Derek turned off the radio. Clearing his throat, the muscular man stated, "You were awfully quiet." Reid continued to lay eyes on the bay through his passenger window.

"So?" I retorted, staring through the front windshield.

Derek sighed, this whole case I believed he was testing me. Testing all of my triggers, trying to guesstimate my growth as a person, with every question I knew he was profiling me. My performance has no correlation to my past, as harrowing as it was. Did he think the BAU would hire an insane agent; did he think I flew under the radar? "You didn't seem comfortable with asking the questions, were you listening?" he pressed, but not raising his voice in anger.

"From what I saw, I can tell you that if Julie was the Unsub, she's going to slip up. The way she talks with her hands shows a need to be understood one hundred percent of the time. Even though she has no problems with male authority figures, she had problems with me. That shows that she was either constantly put down by her mother, an adult female in her childhood, or her mother was a dormant parent. She thrives on control, and may have hints of manipulation," I broadcasted. Spencer was nodding his head in agreement from the front seat.

"What did you pick up on Adam?" Reid queried, realigning his body to proper posture in the front seat. Morgan smugly steered his way through the traffic.

Smirking, I tried to filter through all of my notes I had made to myself. "He's a nervous wreck, experiences migraines, has a history of drug abuse, and he looked like he hadn't slept in a week. Due to his low self esteem, I can concur he doesn't like his dependence. As for his drug history, he's probably experiencing a withdrawal from hyrdromorphone currently; he's been known to use hallucinogens. I wouldn't be surprised if he has used depressants and stimulants simultaneously to achieve 'high.' And without of a doubt he's tried hydrocodone," I explained. Reid cringed at the mentioning of hydromorhpone. Tension began rushing into the small space. Brushing it off, I refused to profile the team. Despite it being in nature for them, I still had shards of loyalty eclipsing my heart.

"What's the difference between hydromorphone and hydrocodone?" Morgan queried, raising his eyebrow. Despite the fact that I blew him off of his feet, he took defeat graciously. It wasn't a hindering to have a quiet observant eye to check your tracks.

Hopefully, I proved it to them, that I was an asset. Even if I didn't think I was, I still yearned for something to prove. "Hydrocodone, when speaking of the streets, is usually in pill form. The DEA classifies it as a Schedule II and III drug. These pills are a mixture of narcotics painkillers and either acetaminophen and ibuprofen. It is typically found under the brand name Vicodin," Reid informed for me. Evaluating his tracks, I realized they were right. How could I expect anything less?

Picking up on the conversation, I sorted through my knowledge of hydromorphone. "Thank you Spencer," I commented. Crossing my arms, I began my lecture, "On the other hand, hydromorphone is a more potent opioid. So potent, it can be compared to that of heroin. When compared to morphine, morphine looks like a joke," I explained, in attempts to prove my point. If it was true that Adam Jackson was hitting this up, it would be bad news. Reid cringed at each fact I put on the table. What was up with that?

"In comparison to morphine, hydromorphone six to eight times stronger. It is usually prescribed in pill form, but drug abusers prefer to snort it or inject it. This drug is sold under the brand name Dilaudid, and it's usually referred to as that," I administered. Derek's face even showed discomfort with the topic.

Nevertheless, even though his face was contorted into pain, Derek wasn't done. "If he was in withdrawal from Dilaudid, wouldn't he have the itchy feeling? Wouldn't his face be swollen?" Derek pressed. Looking in hindsight, it wasn't likely that he was in withdrawal. Anyways, why would he want to relive the trauma? Dilaudid makes you reminisce.

Then, operating with the new information that we received from the tape, I had an idea. Reaching the station, Morgan scavenged for a place to park, "What about Methadone?" I proposed.

"That's highly likely," Reid choked, trying to remain composure.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note: Hey everyone! Thank you for alerting the story. Reviews are really appreciated. Enjoy... I'm uploading two tonight. _

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**_"Study the past if you would define the future." ~Confucius _**

* * *

Waiting around for the conclusion of interviews, I was trying to keep myself calm. Watching the reactions from Adam in the room was heartbreaking. How Spencer could empathize with these people, I haven't a clue. Hearing footsteps approach me, Hotch's face came into my peripheral vision. "Carter," he addressed, investigating through the glass.

"Yes sir?" I queried, not ceasing to study the interrogation. Adam was a poster child of impaired speech. He took too long to formulate responses.

Hotch gazed in the window along with me. Crossing his arms, from what I saw in the reflection, I wondered if he was dissatisfied with my performance. Morgan must've snitched on me. "Reid told me you were hesitant to interrogate Julie and Adam, why is that?" he questioned me. Making sure I didn't show any signs of anxiety in my features, I pondered on the question. Was there an excuse?

Due to Hotch's seniority and aura of dominance, I couldn't pull a fast one on him. There wasn't a possibility I could even joke my way out of this one like I did Morgan. "I know it's a weakness, regardless Agent Hotchner... But, I was testing Julie for the profile, a submissive female wouldn't have asked me about my presence," I explained my actions. Crossing my fingers, I trusted that it wouldn't be the end of my cross-examination.

"Clever, Carter," Hotch commented, nodding in approval. My heart leapt with joyous emotions that weren't recognizable. That was a heavy compliment coming from him, and I treasured it.

"Thank you Hotchner," I beamed. Spencer subconsciously gazed off to the side. Briefly we made eye contact, but he continued interrogating. Something told me that Hotch's lingering was a bad sign.

Clearing his throat, he rocked back and forth on his feet. "I want you to try to interrogate Adam with Reid, even if you just go in there to observe," Aaron suggested, or I hope it was a suggestion. The thought of being in there, a newbie practically, with Reid investigating some person I had no sympathy for… It was daunting. "That's an order," he expressed before pacing away. Biting my lip, Hotchner had thrown me to the hounds.

Walking around to the side, I carefully turned the knob on the door. As soon as I opened it, Adam's eyes flung to meet mine. Rage was evident in his watery pupils. "Why are you here?" Reid hushed rudely. I don't blame him; I don't want to be here either.

"Hotch's orders," I shrugged, sitting down on the couch. "Hello Adam, I'm Florence," I waved simply. He didn't care to respond from behind the grid. Reid rolled his eyes and continued with his interrogation.

"Did she buy the drugs?" Spencer asked quite callously. Way to piss a low self esteemed person off, I mocked within the confines of myself. Was he utterly oblivious to an addictive personality? Keeping my disbelief to a low simmer, I realized how effective his questions were.

"I have migraines," Adam confessed, pacing around in the small cell. Anxiety was a definite diagnosis, that small space seemed to bug him out.

Spencer made eye contact with him. Something important was about to be brought up. "So? Take a prescription," Reid communicated. Alright, that's it. Giving him a death glare, he dismissed my animosity.

"I thought you were different," Adam trembled.

Spencer resumed his condescending demeanor and moved forth with his questioning, "What does that mean?"

"Seems like you have this under control," I nervously hushed, scurrying back to the door. Reid nodded, patronizing me in senses. Escaping the room, I became embarrassed. Not only did Spencer throw me under the bus with Hotch, he made me trip, proving my weakness. That wasn't condonable.

* * *

"It's not that hard to trick a polygraph," I examined the results alongside Morgan and Reid. If Prentiss thought the tension was high last case, she should try to breathe over here. Asphyxiation was possible; the anxiety gripped all of our throats with vice grasp.

Derek stared at me and laughed. Was I really that unforgettable? "Well, you would certainly know," Morgan commented. Spencer kept replaying footage and possessed a face that made him look lost in thought.

"I can't believe I never saw it," Spencer muttered, flipping back the footage.

Morgan leaned in, putting the polygraph down. I kept lounging at my current state. "What if we're looking at one Unsub, but two personalities?" he advised, his eyes getting wide and beady.

Sighing, I put down my pen, and leaned in like Morgan was. As brilliant as Reid was, that wasn't logical. "Reid, you're adding seven variables to something that already makes sense," I folded my arms across my chest. Awaiting Morgan's rejection, I sipped on my water. Derek was really considering this, deep thought was evident in his features.

"Think outside the box Carter," Reid sneered. Really? You're seriously going to throw that at me? "Look the control on the polygraph he spiked on the slope intercept question," Spencer pointed to the screen, which was unnecessary because of the paper in front of me.

"So? Not everyone can stay awake during Algebra class," I commented, trying to get him to step down. This was absolutely preposterous; Adam was simply a damaged drug head who needed some help. What Adam wasn't, that's what we were looking for.

"No, you're not seeing this," he exclaimed agitatedly, severely frustrated at my opinions. "He's not supposed to know the answer, like you said, but if he was telling the truth… Wouldn't the polygraph remain the same?" Spencer's lip twitched up in victory. The position of 'sore loser' just opened up, and I wasn't about to stoop so low as to take it.

"I get that, but if you have multiple personalities, how could he control himself during interrogations?" I suggested, trying to prove my point that Spencer over thought this mess.

"It doesn't work like that, usually something triggers it," Morgan entered the conversation. Great, it was two against one, and I was screwed.

Reid smiled smugly, "So it peaked because the other personality knew Adam wouldn't know the answer," he lectured. Frowning, I shrugged my shoulders. Even now that is was explained, I didn't believe them.

The holes in my neck were drilled by Reid's eyes. Standing my ground, I sighed, "I'm glad you have evidence, but I'm still not buying it." Morgan gazed at me with disbelief for a split second and then rolled his eyes. I wasn't being childish; I truly believed Reid was wrong.

"You don't have to buy anything," Morgan communicated, sensing the disappointment in his voice, I was taken off guard. Wasn't I supposed to stand up for what I believed in? These hypocrites! "Reid, it sounds right," Derek concluded, putting his beliefs all out on the table. With that, he pushed his chair in and walked away, presumably to get feedback. Spencer followed him.

Picking up my empty travel mug, I guess I had to trail behind them.

* * *

Staring off of the balcony of my room, I picked the petals off of the roses. One by one, the flimsy red ligaments flung off the balcony. "You're getting plant material in my coffee," a voice commented. Rolling my eyes, I continued to fling the present into the wind. Sniffing the sea breeze, what I wouldn't give to go play in the waves half heartedly. Instead though, I was stuck up here lovesick and facing reality. "Seriously," the familiar voice beckoned. Suddenly, I saw Spencer's figure leaning over the adjoining balcony to attempt to see me. "Throwing them away wouldn't have sufficed?" he questioned, adding a smirk.

"I needed to be dramatic," I sullenly admitted. Dissecting another flower, I ripped all of the petals off in one handful. Spencer still leaned over the balcony, if his mom were here; I bet she'd have a fit. I know my mother would. "I'll make it quick," I promised, dropping the stem from the tenth story.

"So Victor sent you flowers?" Spencer morphed into his condescending interrogation mode. In no way did I want to crack on him, but he wasn't necessarily making it easy. Ripping out another handful, I sprinkled them down into the garden.

Reaching back around to grab more, I nodded, "I guess you can say that." Stopping the decapitation, I resented the fact that Reid had to witness this. Surprisingly enough, he still wanted to talk to me. After all the efforts I undertook to try to prove him incorrect, it takes a good person to do that. In the end, good always wins. But just because I had lost, does that make me bad?

"An ordinary woman would be stoked to get flowers from her fiancé," Reid commented, denying eye contact as he stared into the ocean. Biting my lip, I continued the beheading of the red flowers.

Sighing, I watched a burst of wind carry the petals away. "An ordinary woman my age would be working some menial job, partying, studying for some pointless degree, and living in a dorm," I rebutted, trying to prove a point. Knowing Spencer; that would be interpreted literally.

"Do you want that?" Spencer questioned, swiveling his head to look at me. He was tired, bags rested below his eyes. I'm pretty sure I had those purple shadows slathered on my cheekbones as well.

Laughing softly, I looked down at the growing pile of petals in the grass. "Well, I've already experienced enough of that," I plucked the petals aimlessly. What was going through his head at the moment? Was he remembering me at one day before eighteen, when we first crossed paths? That was a rough time. During which I never thought I'd make it to twenty two. "I'm undecided," I expressed, trying to clear up misconception.

"About what?" Spencer inquired, digging through my life. I didn't mind it; I really had no one else. There was Victor, but he didn't seem to understand me. It was confusing, how he hated when I was away but liked the money I brought home. Actually, it wasn't confusing at all; I just wanted a reason to justify my thoughts.

"This job, this impending marriage, reality," I murmured, hoping my voice would get lost in the wind. It wasn't fair that Reid had to decipher my incoherent babble. This was a rough case for him, one could see it. The way he put his heart and soul on the line, the methods he used, everything showed his devotion and empathy for Adam.

Overall, it was admirable. "Well, you can't escape reality healthily," he mused, almost like going through a checklist. "There seems to be hopes for your impending marriage," Spencer pointed at the flowers. What a lie. "And for the job…" he stared to the crashing waves, "I promise you, it gets easier." He was lying; there wouldn't be a day I didn't relate to any of these people.

"Well, aren't you an optimist?" I joked, throwing the petals over the ledge. He saw how bad of a person I was. Spencer witnessed my low points; I'm not even referring to four years ago.

"Actually, the term is Agathism, but whatever you choose," Spencer shrugged, trying to lighten the mood with facts and figures. "Honestly, why are you destroying the flowers?" he questioned, catching a rose petal in midair.

Sighing, I didn't want him to know my secrets. He'd probably sell me out to Hotch again. Debating silently in my head, I opted to use, 'Agathism.' "Maybe because I don't like to be bought, these flowers were bought with the intention of an apology I'm not going to accept. I'm irate to the point of not functioning rationally anymore," I divulged, tearing two flowers apart at one time. Letting them go, I returned to the vase to gather the final two.

"The cancelation wasn't the only bump," Spencer realized. Like Julie, I became uncensored. All of my actions weren't sequestered. Maybe I was me again, but I shouldn't fear myself this much.

Shaking my head, I felt weird. Then it hit me, I had an epiphany, something I had waited six months for. "Not even that, I'm a tool, I'm being used Reid," and with that, Spencer was silent. Giving him a rose, and a feeble smile, he tore the head off and dusted the ground with the petals. He understood it.

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_Author's Second Note for the Hell of it: Reviews are greatly appreciated, thank you for reading and alerting!_


	8. Chapter 8

**__**_Author's Note: Reviews automatically makes unicorns erupt into song and dance. Thank you for alerting, and enjoy the story :). Note, not all of these musical choices are my favorite. They were tapered to lighter tastes for a reason. By the way, I know that Florence+the Machine and many other artists' songs weren't available/written in the time frame of 4x20 "Conflicted" let's have imagination, shall we? Thanks again. _

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**_"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage." ~Lao Tzu._**

* * *

Derek stared at me from across the plane. He had been doing that since we boarded an hour ago. Taking out my earphones, I checked to see if he was calling my name. Still curious after he didn't say anything, I spoke up, "Do I have ketchup on my face?" I laughed half heartedly. It was amazing how I had put on a happy face after I just had a heart to heart with Reid. That made me worry more than it should have, knowing that someone knew every aspect of my life.

"You never answered me when we were collecting evidence at the bar," he beamed. Even though he was across the aisle, it felt like he was breathing down my neck. Remembering my 'part-time' sinner complaint, I suppressed a few giggles.

Rolling my eyes, I turned to face him, "Please, those places were tame." Hotel clubs weren't party destinations I would've hit up. In all honesty, if one desires an unforgettable Spring Break, splurge and go to Miami.

"Wasn't expecting that," Morgan's eyes grew wide as he chortled widely. Catching the attention of others on the plane, I blushed. Eventually, they went back to their activities. "So what are your hot picks for spring break?" Derek lifted an eyebrow, pondering where I went to party.

Tapping my fingers, I had to sort through all the destinations I visited. "Miami and Seaside Heights, hands down," I suggested, trying my best to refrain from laughing. "Vegas would be my favorite, but the people there are so irritating, I can't seem to go there without getting into a fight," I admitted, laughing along with Morgan.

"Hey now," Reid warned, dog earring his page. Derek laughed and I turned around stunned, "What was that about Vegas natives?" he questioned. Blushing I looked to Morgan for advice. He just laughed some more.

"Whenever I go to Vegas someone always provokes a fight with me, never fails," I explained, trying to alleviate the rivalry. Spencer still gave me the death glare, "You're from Vegas…" I stammered, trying to figure out the root of the awkwardness.

He nodded his head curtly, "You always get into fights?" he questioned, raising his eyebrows. Shuffling his position, I couldn't look him in the face without giggling to seventh heaven. "How many times have you been to Vegas to prove it?" he interrogated as Morgan sat there trying to restrain his laughter. It was working well because the rest of the team was busy with their duties.

"Well, I've visited Vegas three times, and I've gotten into four fights," I confessed, sighing heavily. If my reputation wasn't stained enough, this is what had to happen. "It's probably because I was on the strip," I informed Reid, who was giving me the death glare. With no avail, his jaw was still set angrily, Derek was dying. "I only initiated one of those fights and the drunkard thought I was a prostitute," my voice shook.

"As far as I'm concerned, your aggression is equivalent to that of a Girl Scout," he raised his voice to a high pitch, mocking me. Derek was laughing uncontrollably and I glared at Reid. Rolling my eyes, I tried not to laugh myself. They had me backed into a corner, and I might as well practice optimism.

"You're the best one so far," I muttered, throwing hints of sarcasm into my low voice. The four eyes in the other section of the plane were trained on my neck, and I could feel their judgment in each stare. Shrugging, I thought I might as well get it all out there. I'd be spending a majority of my time with these people, so why not?

Spencer rolled his eyes like I did earlier. Everyone calmed down as I continued to glare down Spencer. Derek pressed the ear buds back into his ears. Copying his movements, I did the same. Before the second one was slipped in Spencer addressed, "Hey Carter?" he spoke quietly, almost so I couldn't hear him.

"Yes?" I responded, removing the earphone from my ear by jerking the cord. Unlike the jovial environment that captivated the cabin earlier, he was much more sincere now.

Laying the thick textbook on the ground, he cracked his knuckles and slouched down in the seat. "What was the song you were listening to before you were talking to Morgan, I sort of heard the beat from your earphones…" he stammered, trying to see if he could explain his reasoning furthermore. An evil side of me wanted to perform a Julie Riley on him, and stay silent for a long period of time. But I got up and sat in the empty seat next to him. "You didn't have to…" he stammered, trying to be polite. Putting an earphone in his palm, he looked at me like a lost puppy.

"Well, are you going to listen or not?" I questioned, putting in my earphone. Setting it to a light volume, I waited for him to put in his earphones. After a long second of eye contact, he finally gave in. Pressing play, I let the melody play out. It was Florence + the Machine's song "Shake it out," and it was astonishing. Someone had good ears to pick up on the harmonious melody.

Finishing up, I saw the chills on Spencer's arms and how they coincided with mine. Her voice just does that to you. Spencer removed the earphone and smiled, "What'd you think?" he questioned, raising his eyebrows. Well, if I was listening to it, didn't I think it was good?

"It's one of my favorites," I grinned, his chills still hadn't left. Finally, someone liked the same music as I did. "Listen to another one?" I suggested, flipping it to another Florence song before he could answer. 'No' was dancing on his lips and then he heard the melody. That shut him up.

"Sure," he smiled, resting his feet on the textbook. Quickly after expressing that, he added self consciously, "If you don't mind…"

And like that, we passed a four hour flight with good music, not limited to Florence + the machine. Occasionally an Oasis song would pop up, As Tall as Lions made an appearance, and who couldn't exclude Sia and Christina Perri? It was every slow song I owned, compressed into one large playlist called "Life : )," literally, it was my favorite one to listen to on the way home from ordeals like these. Somewhere between a slow song, and another _slower _song, I feel asleep.

* * *

Someone was nudging my shoulder. My eyes snapped open. Draped over a chair, I felt something soft between my head and… Blinking again, I realized I was leaned up against Spencer, resting on the sleeve of his knit cardigan. Legs flung over the side of the seat, and earphone stuck in my ear. Inhaling, I caught of whiff of Spencer, he smelt nice. Feeling a chill on my feet, I saw through my blurry vision Prentiss smiling from the seat across the aisle. In her hands was one of my stilettos.

"Cute toes," she giggled. Rousing upwards, I flung my legs into proper position.

Spencer stared at me and blushed. I'm pretty sure my face looked like I had been lounging around without sunscreen. Heat pooled into my cheeks. Deciding to play it cool, I commented, "You smell nice." Emily chuckled even more, and I was pretty sure my 'cool' comment wasn't giving the effect it should have. Bending down, I reached for my heels and slipped into the torture devices. How where they even practical for stealthily tracking down criminals?

His face was red, almost as red as my strawberry blonde hair. It was awfully nice of him to even put up with me when the toll of this case was evident in his eyes. "You have excellent taste in music," he held up the iPod, placing it back down on the table. Awkward was so evident in the air. I was wondering when I would stop breathing.

"Thank you," I commented, not knowing whether or not he'd perceive me rude if I returned to my seat. Remaining there for the rest of the flight, I wondered if I would be returning to a functioning household tonight.

* * *

"Hey," I greeted cautiously, seeing Vic slouched over the arm of a chair playing some violent video game with Harrison. They both cursed loudly as a loud explosive noise erupted from the screen.

"You like your flowers?" Victor asked, placing the white controller down on the coffee table. Nodding my head, I remained meek in my demeanor. Sighing, Victor stood up and I felt him gravitate towards me. Nervously, I shuffled into the kitchen to avoid his touch; he didn't need to be in the vicinity of me. Following me into my new location, his large, tanned arms wrapped around my torso from behind.

Jolting within his grasp, I felt suffocated. I couldn't bring myself to move. "Whoa babe," he hushed in my ear. Ever since I had been so keen on disliking him lately, I didn't have a plan for when I actually came home to face him. "Say, you're quiet tonight," he whispered, letting me free from his clutches.

"Sorry," I mumbled, unpacking the various snacks stowed away in my tote bag. His eyes watched me, observed my every move; I didn't feel like this was a good idea. Victor's aura reeked of bad intentions. After all of my silent duties were completed, I retreated upstairs.

Footfalls were behind me. They stalked me into our room where I put on pajamas and crawled under the covers. "Everything alright?" Victor questioned. He had been studying me in the same awestruck position on the sheets since I had chosen my resting place.

"Yeah," I shrugged, trying to get away from him under the white expanse of sheets. A large, burly arm caged around my waist. Pulling me closer to him, I shivered in fear. "It was just a hard case," I tried to reason with him, excusing myself from cuddle time.

Vic sighed, pulling me back closer to him, "I don't care about your case." He huffed loudly. Usually, if I brought anything up about the FBI, he'd nod and smile like he was interested. As brute and immature as Victor was, he never resorted to blatant rudeness. "Really, this whole thing is tearing us apart," he whined, hugging me closer with each word.

"Only if we let it," I warned him, squirming away with little success. Fear raced through my veins as he wouldn't let me go. "No," I responded to the strengthening of his arms. Victor's mouth found my neck and began planting light kisses on the feature. "Victor!" I hissed in a whispering volume, "Stop it!" I delivered a swift kick to his shin. Even physical attack wasn't deterring him tonight.

Teeth sank into my collarbone as a counter defense from his side. He wouldn't stop.

* * *

Throwing the last of my things into a bag, I surveyed the activity downstairs. Harrison was probably painting in his room, after all it was a Saturday morning, and Victor was getting out of the shower. I'd have to hurry up if I wanted to escape. Clutching my duffel bag, I needed to flee down the steps and grab my work bag. My feet locked in place as I heard the door behind me open. "Another case?" he snidely asked. His pajamas lay loosely over his big, threatening frame.

Deciding to lie about the whole scenario, I nodded my head, "Yeah it's a pretty bad one that needed immediate attention."

Rolling his eyes, they snapped back to me quickly. "Where's your ring?" he queried, grabbing my left wrist. In similarity last night, I froze in all my responses. "Well say something!" he bellowed, trying to get my attention.

"Sorry, you haven't been acting yourself lately," I defended, speaking honesty. His eyes were opened in rage.

"I told you I had a case!" I barked at him, trying to deter him from asking me again.

"Don't yell at me!" he asserted, shaking my left hand. Quickly, I took my freed right one and slapped the daylights out of him.

"I'll do whatever the hell I want to!" I vocalized loudly. Harrison must've been out because the statement echoed off of the apartment walls. The grip on my wrist was drastically tighter, and the uncomfortable gaze we held wasn't letting up anytime soon.

His nostrils flared in rage, and my heart beat rapidly in my chest. Someone that was once so gentle with me now had the fury of a psychopath. Vic always had a problem with control, and I was always fearful of it, now, fear wasn't even beginning to describe what I felt. "You're staying here today," he snarled.

Shaking his grip off of me, "No, I'm not," I stated. Adrenaline made its self at home in my veins. My ever-so-lovely fight or flight response kicked in, and I began to slowly tread towards the steps.

"Go then," Vic commented, I heard his steps behind me. Breathing unevenly, I almost sensed what was going to happen next.

Stairs, they flew under me with an increasing pace. The momentum of his push was so strong, that I couldn't even put out an arm to catch myself; I was simply a helpless Lincoln log. After I landed with a thud on the wall, Victor rushed down the steps. Picking me up cautiously, wetness escaped his eyes.

"I'm sorry but, you-you just wind me up sometimes," he cried, cradling my body in his arms. Maybe if I hadn't have slapped him, this would've never happened. In the heat of the moment, his fight or flight was probably intact too. "I love you so much," he embraced me on the ground, pulling me into his lap. Even if he was apologizing—I still felt like I did at the hotel. I was weary.

My body ached in pain; I refused to let him know he injured me. Crawling out from under him, I scurried over to the door to get my means of escape. I'd surely have distinctive purple marks later in the day. "You're probably going somewhere to sleep around you stupid whore!" he yelled in disgust, sitting on one of the steps. "I cannot believe I let myself lower my standards for a typical slut like you!" he bellowed, my heart began racing uncomfortably again.

He was living off of my paycheck, I provided for him. Brushing that fact away, I grabbed my work bag and paused at the door. "I love you so much Victor," I cried, letting those tears fall.

"You think I don't love you! I know I can't provide for you right now, but I have loved you since I fucking met you!" he shrieked, grabbing his hair in frustration. "I love you so much Flo, and you don't care!" he continued. On the other hand, I actually cared for him a lot, maybe not by his standards, but I loved him with all of my capacity.

Turning the knob of the door, I walked outside into the sunlight. Shaking the disorientated wrinkles out of my t-shirt, I unlocked my car and drove down the street. I cried so hard, Victor could probably just follow the 'trail of tears.'


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: I was on charity trip, so... TWO CHAPTERS TONIGHT. Thanks for reading, the subscribers, the reviews, they're awesome! Feedback, good or bad, is totally welcome! Flo is kinda getting a little Mary Sue-ish, agree?**

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**_"I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you. I love you not only for what you have made of yourself, but for what you are making of me. I love you for the part of me that you bring out." ~Roy Croft_**

* * *

As it turned out, I actually did get called in for a case. Thankfully though, it wasn't until the wee hours of Tuesday morning. Ever since the large brawl at the apartment, I had been staying in some dingy Best Western in Alexandria. Victor was calling me every half hour. The monster incessantly trying to find my location. Throwing on some clothes, and a jacket to cover the various bruises, I gathered all of my bags.

After this case, I believed it would be safe to return home. He's been extremely apologetic in the phone calls, and maybe I treated him a tad bit harshly. Even though my inner profile was talking in a stern, disappointed voice, I couldn't let that control my life. Profiler or not, I still wanted to be Vic's wife.

Only being thirty minutes out of Quantico would raise eyebrows from people, but I was hoping the case would distract them enough. Another miracle, I hoped they wouldn't notice the heaps of foundation I had slathered my face in. No part of my body was left without a bump or a ding from the fall. Personally, I didn't like the event being referred to as, 'the morning he threw me down a flight of stairs.'

Whatever it was inside of me, I didn't like it. This whole 'keep quiet' demeanor went completely against everything I was for. Popping a white pill, I threw the orange cylinder back into my bag. Dry swallowing the tablet, I continued my journey down the flight of stairs. Anything that would kill time would be a godsend.

* * *

"So," Garcia mused from the sink beside me. Glancing into the mirror, I studied my face to make sure nothing was visible under the makeup. "What are you doing all bundled up?" she laughed, pointing to the cropped blazer I had on over my maroon t-shirt.

"I'm naturally cold natured," I fabricated a fib as soon as her hand brushed up against the material. "In contrast to your smoking hotness, mines a little more subdued," I joked, plastering on a grin very wide.

"You bet little fox head," she patted my tresses. "But you are one hot little mama, Victor better keep a firm grip on you," she complimented, exiting the bathroom. If she only knew.

Shaking off my sodden hands, I examined my makeup. "Yeah, he shouldn't," I remarked under my breath. Somehow, if the FBI didn't work out, I could become a makeup artist. Even in fluorescent light my purple atrocity didn't leak through the pale solidified cover up. Leaving the bright bathroom, I flung my go-bag over my shoulder. It was going to be a long case, or at least I hoped.

Upon boarding the plane, I choose the very last section, nearing the back with the counter. My phone buzzed in my pocket routinely. Picking it up this time, I dreaded what was going to be said over the line. "Victor," I sighed, trying to establish control over the subject. Besides Hotch and Prentiss, I was the only one on the plane. Thankfully, if I caused a scene they'd be the sole witnesses.

"Thank you for picking up Sweetheart, I have been so worried!" he excitedly explained into the phone. Worried? Was that the right phrase for what I was feeling?

"Look, I'm going to New York on case, and I don't want you calling me every thirty minutes," I asserted, trying to regain the control he was taking away. For two people who have control issues, we were somehow tangled in a four year love fest.

"Excuse me, I was out looking all weekend making sure you weren't dying on the street you selfish bitch!" he exclaimed into the phone.

Covering the speaker so the team wasn't scrutinizing my partner's fury, I bartered, "Look, I'm sorry… But if you don't call me, I'll come home and we'll talk it over." Rolling my eyes and sighing, I continued, "Bye."

Hanging up, he tried calling again as soon as the phone was placed in my pocket. Turning it off, frown evident on my face, I tossed it angrily into my bag. Morgan and Reid filed onto the plane, and JJ followed them.

She sat next to me and Reid sat across from me. Morgan filed into the aisle seat. "Vicious much?" he commented, giggling. If Spencer had said that, I'd have some witty comeback. But Morgan was normal, and my comebacks were dry.

"Cute," I growled, trying to throw them off course. Denial would only draw attention to my actions. Derek and Spencer snickered to themselves as JJ rolled her eyes. Almost as soon as they were back to a normal position, they darted to my left hand. She noticed the absence of the ring. But, fortunately, her lips were sealed.

"What's up with you?" Spencer questioned. Biting my tongue, I darted my eyes over to the group lingering in the other parts of the plane.

Thinking about it for a brief moment, I made my decision. "When did you try to catch up on the urban lingo?" I snidely remarked. Derek raised his eyebrows at my comment and I anticipated what would come next.

"Well, I'm going to try to catch some z's before we face this hell," Derek expressed. He plugged in some expensive earphones and JJ agreed with him. "I can move if you want to be next to Pretty Boy," Morgan evilly grimaced. Blood rushed to my face, but it's not like they could detect it from the amount of makeup.

Spencer's face went white, and I laughed. "Nice one Derek," I scowled. JJ suppressed a few giggles. Derek grinned at him own doing, and Spencer curled up a slept. It was a two hour flight; I didn't see how they were going to sleep through this. JJ rested her head on her clenched fist.

Everyone was going to be able to sleep but me. My medicine kept me up. Oh well, it was one of the minor ramifications.

* * *

Popping another blue pill, I tried to focus on the case work. Everything was confusing, like I was put into some jaded lens—one that I couldn't decipher. "He strikes almost exactly every twelve months," Spencer concluded.

"That just means he's either OCD, or only gets the thrill doing that exact ritual," I commented, rubbing my temples. Picking up my pill bottle to examine it, I snatched it from Spencer's hands.

"Ritalin, 10 milligrams every four hours as needed, not exceeding 5 pills a day," Spencer muttered. "That's one hell of an ADHD case," he rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm not as naturally driven as you, smartass," I rudely counter-argued. "The OCD, doesn't it seem legit?" I yawned, trying to ignore the fact I had been up for twenty four hours.

Spencer stopped, "There's no background evidence that supports otherwise. OCD has tendencies to manifest in cleanliness, and a knife isn't the cleanest way to kill someone." Reid grimaced at me, furrowing his brow, "Besides, it could just be that there's a ritual, one to keep him under the radar." Even after that, he continued to prod me and belittle my intelligence, but I don't think I needed his held to do the latter of the two, "Do you have a magical pharmaceutical cocktail that explains his actions?" Reid patronized.

"Ouch, my self-worth," I mimicked a pain in my chest. Buzzing erupted in my pocket and I pulled out my phone. Looking at the text message that I just so happened to receive, I grinned. "I liked the part when the background evidence consequently fell from the sky," I flashed the phone to him. Before he could come over to examine the message, his phone rang.

Listening to the conversation, Reid shared what we knew, and I interjected my theory. Emily agreed, stating that the male skipped the cracks on the sidewalk. Spencer sulkily agreed with us. Victory hath never tasted so sweet.

Yawning, I stood out on the balcony. Sighing loudly, I heard a voice cough on the adjoining side. "They always put me next to you," I babbled, trying to trigger a response.

"Where are your roses?" he joked, leaning his lanky body over the railing. Nervousness crept in my heart. Joining him, I crept over the metal barrier. Taking the walk on the wild side was easier said than done.

Huffing, I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, I don't think he's sending me roses," I commented.

"If you don't mind me asking, where's the ring?" he questioned, trying to make eye contact. Instead of meeting his gaze, I looked onto the street.

Tears ran to my eyes, but they were quickly pushed back under the surface. "It's something I don't want to talk about," I commented. Below, there'd probably be the unsub. He was probably out there, and Reid and I were on a balcony talking about personal issues.

"Same thing with the excessive makeup and the bruises around your wrists?" Reid stabbed. In that moment, I locked eyes with him. No matter what I wanted to think, I was thankful in a sense.

But that didn't outweigh the hatred that bubbled up in every ounce of my being. "Nice way to apply your profiling skills," I bitterly snapped.

"I didn't mean it like that," Spencer raised his voice. Shaking my head, I flung open the balcony door and retreated inside, making sure to slam it on the way in.

I sat myself down on the bed, pulling my knees up to my chest. Cradling myself, I didn't feel the need to cry. Instead, I felt the drastic, devastating, pull of life telling me to face the facts. I was telling myself to live. Living is a lot harder than crying, coiled up on some hotel bed, miles away from all your evils. Knocks skittishly made their way to my door.

Gazing out of the peephole, I saw a somber Spencer in the hallway. He had a lost puppy look on his face. It was impossible to stay livid at him. Sighing, I crossed my arms and let him in. "I'm sorry it sounded like that, I didn't mean to intrude on your life," he blurted in the door way as soon as I cracked it.

"Come in," I gestured, trying to be friendly. Taking the offer, he sat anxiously on my bed as I pointed to it. Hopping onto the double under the childish fear that monsters hid under it, he gave me a wary eye. Lying down on my belly, I sighed. "What do you think?" I questioned, trying to keep it all in. Noticing he was sitting up straight, I replied, "Get comfortable, statue."

He did. Lying down on his stomach, he positioned himself about a foot away from me. He held his chin up on two of his clenched fists and held a perplexed glance straight in front of him. "I think there's more under the makeup, jacket, your shirt… Anyways, I am inclined to believe you are covered in bruises," he answered.

"And the ones you can see," I muttered, taking off the bracelets and letting them fall on the gray carpet, "Show restraint." I sat up on the bed Indian style, trying to make it so he could see.

"Well, even though they're pretty extensive," he jerked my left wrist over to him, "They were probably made Saturday night, due to the purple coloring replacing the red inflammation caused by the release of hemoglobin," he continued, examining it. Then, his face finally twisted into a furious knot. Like I did seconds ago, he jolted up and sat on the bed in similarity to me. Clutching my right hand, he placed it around the bruise. "You couldn't have done this, it's a left handprint and it's too big," he shook my hands together before letting it go. Shrugging out of my jacket, I showed him to full severity of everything.

His mouth gaped open as he counted all of the bruising on my forearms. Lifting that shirt above my head, I revealed even more purple skin, with a purple tank top to match. "Jesus, Flo," he exclaimed, dropping my wrists into my lap.

"You wanted to know," I debated, adding an edge to my voice.

"I didn't know it was going to be this… Widespread," he fumbled for the words. Gaping at all of the marks, I let a few tears fall. It was serious no matter how much I wanted to deny it. "You want to talk about it?" he requested, awkwardly.

"It's not that bad," I stated, I didn't feel like it was as bad as it looked. Tilting his head, he gave me a look that said otherwise. "Besides, I think you already have it figured out," I replied, trying to get him off my case. Without a doubt he'd report Victor. Even though I was angry with my estranged fiancée, I didn't want him in prison.

"So you want me to tell you what I think?" Spencer queried, trying to make sense of my requests. Nodding my head, he sighed heavily. Flinging his legs over the side of the bed, his back faced me, "I think he abuses you," he stated matter-of-factly.

Taking in the next breath after that was stated was difficult. The air had grown thick, "It was only this once," I proclaimed, trying to keep Spencer calm.

"Only once?" he taunted, still sitting on the edge of the striped comforter, "We both know this isn't the last of it."

"I froze when it all happened, I'm sorry," I defended, trying to provide a sense of well-being. I could protect myself, I knew I could, I just needed the dramatic flair. He was right, I was pathetic.


	10. Chapter 10

**_"Be not ashamed of mistakes and thus make them crimes." ~Confucius_**

* * *

We were standing over Alice's body. Nothing would have ever prepared me for this, not the pictures, not the academy. It smelled like, death. There is nothing comparable to the smell of decaying human. This hour marked the forty ninth hour since I had slept last. My stomach lurched, and before I emptied my stomach of the little food it contained, I ran as far as I could manage away from the team.

Vomiting into a flower garden, I heard footsteps racing behind me. "Everything alright?" a concerned voice came from behind me. Shaking my head, I turned around to see Rossi.

"They just don't prepare you for that," I gasped, hoping puke wasn't in my hair. "Sorry," I murmured, fiddling around in my bag for a mirror. Thankfully, nothing vulgar stained my face.

"Agreeable," Rossi shrugged, tossing me a set of keys, he stated, "You should probably go back to the hotel to clean up or something."

"Thank you," I blushed, taking a back alley to where the SUVs were parked. Finding the one the keys belonged to, I crawled into the driver's seat. For someone so gruff on the outside, Rossi was entirely understanding with my episode.

* * *

"Rough case," Garcia claimed. Taking my place beside Reid, I nodded in agreement. There were certain parts of this case that were 'rough' in a sense, but nothing comparable to personal issues. Rubbing my temples, I didn't get any sleep whatsoever this entire case. Reaching into my bag for a certain bottle of pills, Reid batted my hand away.

"You'll never sleep if you take that now," he warned. Sighing, I crossed my arms moodily.

Rolling my eyes, I gave him a look and remarked, "Well then." Garcia and Derek stifled a generous amount of laughter. Blushing, I defensively pondered, "What are you laughing at?" Garcia and Morgan giggled even more so at the question.

"The bickering complex we have makes us relevant to that of an 'old' married couple," Spencer reddened, and I swiveled my neck to shoot a nasty look at the both of them. This resulted in more rounds of laughter from the two.

Rolling my eyes, I tossed an earphone to Reid and debated what I should say in response to that. "It isn't that bad, is it?" I asked the two.

"Whatever gets you to sleep at night," Garcia stuck her tongue out. Claiming one half of the armrest for myself, I knew I'd pass out momentarily. The normally comfortable chairs poked and prodded at all my bruises. Any position I tried resulted in major discomfort. Handing Reid my iPod, I let him control the volume and the material we listened to.

Taking down my French twist, I let my hair fall down to my collarbone. Metal ran down my back, and I quickly spun around to retrieve my switchblade I keep in the hairdo. In this process, I ripped my earphone out accidently. "Whoa," Garcia exclaimed, seeing me put the orange blade in my pocket. "I like your style 'Double O,'" she smiled, giving me the seal of approval.

"You keep a knife in your hair thingy?" Derek raised an eyebrow. Nodding my head, I retrieved the small, but sharp, two and a half inch blade, and opened it. "Stainless," he stated in consent.

"Yeah, I don't like being without a back up," I blushed, discarding it in my pocket.

Reid was simply observing from beside me. Picking my earphone back up, Spencer blabbed, "About 65% of people resist when the criminal uses a gun, but only 35% resist when there's a knife." Garcia and I exchanged worried glances. Derek stared at the young genius with a look of amazement on his face.

"I can sympathize with that, a gun would be less painful," I shrugged, "A whole lot faster." Penelope cringed and I took it as a queue to shut my mouth. Reaching over to Spencer's hand, I pressed the illuminated 'play' button.

* * *

Someone was shaking me awake, you'd think I'd be accustomed to it. Spencer was attempting to rouse me up. Once again, I had fallen asleep on his shoulder. Looking at my watch, I sighed heavily, "Only an hour!" I whined. Inhaling, I took part in my guilty pleasure. Spencer smelled like cinnamon… Warm, like your beloved sweater on a frosty evening. "Sorry," I mumbled, removing myself from his space.

"You're fine," he reassured. Reaching for my iPod, I yawned. That was the first time I had slept since Sunday night. Tossing the electronic in my bag, I ran nimble fingers through my wavy strawberry blonde tresses. Feeling the plane touch the ground, I panicked. There was no plan set in stone for Victor and I. To be quite honest, I did not want to go home. I wanted to stay airborne all night and not have to worry.

"Thank God tomorrow is Friday," Garcia expressed, "I'm going out for drinks, anyone coming with?" Throwing around the question, I shrugged my shoulders. In all honesty, it wasn't like I had anything else to do.

Raising my hand, I twiddled my fingers, "I'll go with you." Drinks actually sounded fun. Instead of dealing with my problems, and sleeping like I probably should, I'll go drown it all away in a bottle. Just like old times.

"Sure," Derek agreed. Trust me; I'm tons of fun when I'm drunk sweetheart, I commented within the confines of my mind. JJ politely declined since Henry was up waiting for her arrival. Emily decided to join our growing group, and that left Spencer. He was bouncing around the idea.

"You should go," I encouraged, trying to keep my eyes pried open. Grabbing my go-bag in one hand, I laid the large duffel in my lap. I was so ready to bounce off of this plane.

"Bars aren't really my thing, but…" he stammered.

Before he could finish his long excuse, I proposed, "Get enough drinks in you, and I bet bars are your thing." Garcia stifled a few tired laughs. Morgan nodded his head in agreement.

"But… I'll go," he emphasized. Debating it for a few seconds a large smirk covered his face, "You didn't let me finish, spaz," he poked fun at me. Frowning, I tried to keep my smile from creeping upwards. Penelope and Derek looked at each other, and then reverted their gazes towards us. They then proceeded to bolt out in laughter. Emily grinned and shook her head in a back and forth motion.

"I'm the spaz?" I stood up, stretching my limbs. Much to my surprise, I was wide awake. Flinging the strap of my duffel over my shoulder, I watched the two alpha males retreat towards the exit. They probably had priorities. I was just some tired young adult going out for drinks.

* * *

"He's checking you out," Penelope pointed in the corner subtly. He was about 6'2 dark, brown hair, tan, muscular, blue bedroom eyes, a complete package.

Mentally, I chanted, 'Bottom's up,' and downed the rest of my liquor. I was never one to drink a lot of beer, or wine for that matter. "No he's not," I glanced back to her quickly. I'm an engaged woman, and just because I'm a little bit tipsy doesn't change that.

"Yeah he is," she playfully patted my shoulder. Blushing several tones of red, I observed his actions in the corner. 'Hottie' was constantly looking at me; he was also acting loud and obnoxious like any guy my age. Spencer turned his head to survey what was happening in the corner.

"Yeah, he's checking you out," Spencer taunted. Calling the bartender over, I asked for a shot of whiskey. Tonight, I felt the need to be adventurous. Reid and Penelope gave me wary glances. Taking it all down at once, my throat erupted into flames. Coughing lightly, some tears spilled out of my eyes. Nevertheless, I felt drunk.

Penelope giggled, "I think that's enough for me tonight," she pushed her beer aside. Unlike me, she wasn't planning on calling a cab for herself. We exchanged our goodbyes and I was left sitting awkwardly beside Spencer.

Getting another two shots for myself, I passed one over to him, "Bet you can't take one." Taunting him, I tossed over the amber liquid haphazardly. Hot guy that was apparently 'checking me out' came to take a seat two stools down from me. Ignoring him, I watched Spencer stare at the bottom of the glass.

"You're right," he laughed, not one of those awkward ones either. If he took that shot, he'd be well on his way to intoxicated. Personally, I was now hit with waves of drunk-ness. "I don't think you should have another one either," he pushed the alcohol away from me. Blinking to try to see clear again, I couldn't distinguish left from right.

"I think you're right, I should probably go," I stated, attempting to sound somewhat coherent. Hopping off of the stool, I lost my footing. Thankfully I found balance again, grabbing my purse; Spencer was in my personal space.

"Look, you can't drive," he firmly stated, holding me up from falling. Shaking my head I laid a twenty up there to cover our bill, Spencer laid a ten. What a chivalrous annoyance.

"Keep it," I told the bartender as he tried to give me back my money. He walked me out of the establishment into the windy spring night. The world decided it would be fun to shake and twist all around me. "You smell good," I complimented, going off into a giggling rampage after I said it.

We walked towards some really old, pastel blue, car, "What the hell?" I stumbled as Reid opened the door for me. Crawling in, I shut it before he could. Tapping my fingers in my lap nervously, I giggled in response. Everything was so funny when I was this drunk and sleep deprived.

"You want to go home, or you want to come with me?" Spencer asked, sitting down in the driver's side. Would this old, 'hunk of junk,' even run? Then reality hit me. Shaking my head, I held it in my hands, rubbing my temples. "I mean I know I'm not the funniest guy around," he continued as he lifted his hands from the steering wheels here and there to prove points.

"Sorry, I'm just trying to think," I sighed, pulling my legs into the seat with me. My knees rested at my chest, as I laid my head on them. "Vic's going to kill me," I muttered, trying to figure out what I was going to do. "There's a hotel," I yawned, "Somewhere near Georgetown," I continued, trying to remember in my drunken haze.

"Why don't I just take you home with me?" Spencer pressed again. Turning the key in the ignition, I suspected some sort of talk radio intellectual type of program to be playing, but one of my favorite classical pieces hummed in the interior.

Shrugging my shoulders, I kicked off my high heels. "Do whatever makes you comfortable," I pressed my head against the side of the leather seat, nestling it to find a comfortable place. This is the life.

* * *

"Damn, you live in Van-Ness," I surveyed the apartment complex. In comparison to where I lived… This place was extremely classy. Opening the door for me, I made sure I rushed ahead to get the door for him. He rolled his eyes and went ahead. Faltering every other step, I staggered beside Spencer into the elevator. "Nice place," I commented, staring around the elevator.

"You are such a spaz," Spencer shook his head, pressing the number '3' button. The doors closed and we started moving up.

Rolling my eyes, I leaned up against the wall. Elevator music hummed in the speakers, "I'm not a spaz," I debated. The doors flung open and Spencer literally dragged me from the confines of the room.

"Yeah, pretty spastic," he nodded irritatingly.

Picking myself back up on my own two feet again, Spencer stopped to fumble around for his keys. It was nice to not have my nice leather shoes drag lifelessly across the carpet. Staring down at my feet, I realized my shoes were left in his ancient model car. And no, that wasn't my nice leather stiletto, that was my flesh. "Nice place," I commented as I saw the interior. The walls were white, nothing extraordinary. On the walls were countless degrees and lining the wall were bookshelves housing more thick textbooks than a college bookstore. Generic, but nice looking, leather furniture decorated the small living room.

Attached to the small living room, was a kitchen, probably small as well. "Thanks," he flushed white, throwing his bag on a chair sitting next to the door. Stepping in cautiously, I closed the door behind me before anyone saw me here. No doubts about it, Victor would kill me.

"You know, I never knew you were such a heavyweight drinker," I slurred, laying my bag under the chair.


	11. Chapter 11

A ringing noise rang out in the darkness. Someone beside me groaned and reached over my body to beat the alarm clock senseless. The sheets were soft under my skin; a warm smell tickled my nostrils. They only unpleasant vibe I got was a pounding below my forehead. Then, I started to notice how the sheets not only touched my legs, but my stomach, and how the body next to mine wasn't Victor's.

"Holy shit!" I yelped, yanking all of the covers up to me. Breaking free from his arms tangled around my waist, I bolted straight up in the bed. My life was so cliché.

Blinking, I started to recall the memories of last night.

"_You know, where's your girlfriend?" I giggled, resting my head on the armrest. Spencer sipped more of some type of alcohol. Even though he probably shouldn't, since we have work tomorrow, he still did it anyways. _

_In response to my comment, he chortled from the recliner in the corner. "For four years, I have been single," he pointed at me to reinstate his facts. He was selling himself short. _

_Rolling my eyes, he was telling an obvious lie. "Spencer, you're smart, you're unbearably cute, you're sweet, and just a tad bit meek in a sense. That's like, above triple threat status," I stated, blushing a bit. Hiding my face in the suede chocolate fabric after I said that, he ruffled my mane of tousled strands. I tried reaching up to bat his had away, but to no avail, my drunken stupor won over. _

"_I'm not meek," he grunted. _

"Whoa, spaz," he smirked, eyes still closed.

Retrieving more covers from around me, I attempted to cover myself up. "Spaz, Reid?" I hissed harshly, trying to explain the severity of the situation, "You're freaking naked!" Now, that hangover wasn't the only thing I was stressing about. Victor would have killed me if I had stayed over here tonight, but now… He'd probably go insane and fry me with butter and serve me on a decorative platter adorned with kale and lemon wedges.

"Yeah, I'm not meek am I?" he pompously whispered. Clutching the comforter, I wrapped it around myself and I scurried away into his bathroom.

"_You probably shouldn't be drinking that," I tapped the rim of the brown liquid in the short glass. Spencer shrugged and tilted the glass all the way back. Bottoms up! _

_Spencer smirked after he was done, "Why are you still with Victor? I mean, you're smart, unbearably cute, kind, and meek in a sense," he jeered next to me on the sofa. I was not meek, there was nothing about me that rang submissive in any way. _

_Snatching his tie, I tugged his neck towards me. It wasn't supposed to be a romantic gesture or anything. The only thing I was using it as was a tactic to prove my point, "I'll show you meek," I growled. _

"_Gosh, such a spaz," he took his hand and pried mine off of the silk tie. But, a leer remained etched on his face that hadn't retracted from mine. _

I sat there, on the edge of the tub. There was a part of me that hoped Spencer wouldn't just be another player I had fooled around with. My hands ran through my oily hair, and almost all of my makeup was gone. Every bruise I had was on full display. A knock sounded on the wood of the door. He opened it, not caring for my privacy. At the very least he had made a wardrobe change into a comfortable pair of sweats. Was it bad I was counting his ribs? "Sorry," he apologized, coming in to take a seat next to me.

"Okay, but think Spencer, there's rules against this. Think about how this is going to affect us… In the field, and in personal life," I stammered, lumps forming in my throat. "I mean, I can only lie to him so much," I shook my head.

His finger moved up to trace the outlines of the bruising on my face. "What did he do to you?" he murmured, "Even all down your back, bruises on the backs of your thighs, places that doesn't bruise easily," Spencer's voice raised a little at the end. That wasn't the only signal of his animosity, his hands began to shake and his stare had an uncanny depth to it.

Hiking up the navy comforter under my armpits, I sighed. Angrily, I snapped at him, "Like you don't know." His face didn't change, but my attitude did. I was acting so childish.

_I was under him, as contradictory as it seemed. He definitely wasn't as meek as he let off. Although I was terrified of Victor's brute and brash dominance, Spencer's was dominant in his own way—minus the terror on my part. "Why won't you ever let a woman on top again?" I laughed, playing with the fabric of the sofa. _

"_That how, er," he blushed, turning his face away. Poking at his chest, I wanted to know more. "At least 70% of," he paused. Nagging by the means of jabbing his chest with my pointer and middle finger, I wanted him to spit it out already, "Stop being such a spaz," he rolled his eyes. _

"_You're the one who's going, 'errrrr,' after every statement," I closed my eyes. I'm sure I wouldn't fall asleep, but at least I could make him more comfortable—profiler's tips. _

"_That's how 70% of, 'male endowment,' gets fractured, broken, or twisted," he sputtered. Personally, I sustained a few giggles. "Yeah, it's pretty stupid isn't it?" he laughed alongside me. _

"_I really hope that's a rhetorical question… But I guess you've got to…" I stammered to find the very best statement. Biting my lip, I blabbed, "Protect the treasure?" Snapping my eyes open, I saw Reid's grin plastered a mile across his face. _

"He pushed me down the stairs, Spencer," I told him, clutching the comforter to my purple features. I was trying my very best to stay as neutral as possible since a wave of agitation smacked me in the forehead. His face lit up with realization and I bit my tongue. Even though he just received a fair amount of reasoning from me, his eyes still danced around in wonder.

Biting his lip, he replied, "But there are earlier bruises," he traced the one on my wrist.

"We both know what happened," I communicated as I scooted away from his touch. "Just look at me the past several days," I begged him to listen. He sat there on the edge of the bathtub. Perplexity clouded his features. I'll give him that, he was thinking diligently to read the signs and figure out what was wrong with me. But, as a profiler, he wasn't thinking in that sense.

Pushing myself away from him, so I was propped up against the cool tile on the walls, the space was so comforting. Remembering last night, it didn't sting like I thought it would have. For once, I wasn't threatened when I was with a man. In fact, I think—I_ know_ I enjoyed the whole ordeal. After what felt like a century, his eyes snapped back to me. "I don't want to, impair you in any way. Especially by saying something you aren't ready for me to know, or you're not ready to hear," he cautioned, I refused to take that as an answer. Spencer had already picked apart and dissected my behaviors in the past several days. That statement only confirmed he knew, so he actually did say something.

"I can take it," I told him sternly through clenched teeth, releasing the pent up irritability. Actually, I knew I couldn't. The profiler in me was screaming things at me, but the part of me I hadn't lost—_yet_- was still trying to see how much I could destroy myself.

He snagged his lip in between his teeth and remained silent. Obviously, he was juggling around every textbook he had ever read and trying to merge that with the situation now. Personally, I don't think there's a textbook covering the pressing topic of, "Sleeping with your co-worker who is abused by her fiancé, whom she still cares about." Nope, don't think I can recall the title. "Don't do that to yourself," he muttered, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.

"Don't tell me what to do," I raised my voice. Spencer whipped around as if someone had slapped him to look me straight in the eye. For seconds, I felt bad, mortified of what I had done. Yet, as I held his glance, all of that went away. I desired to know what he thought.

"You're putting me in an awful position, and you know why," Spencer informed me, his impatience riddled the air around me. It wasn't fair to him. "I won't assume scenarios because you have to be ready to talk about it, and that's completely fine," he emphasized.

Twisting a strand of my hair around my finger, I wondered how such a good night turned sour so suddenly. "Alright," I took a deep breath. I've done this once before, I can do it again. Gathering all my courage, I spat it out, "Alright, we had non-consensual sex," I rolled my eyes.

"You know it's not called that," Reid scolded.

"I don't like knowing I was stupid enough to let it happen twice," I admitted.


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Take note of the letter... And thank you oh-so-much for the reviews/favorites/alerts, seriously, they help me pull through all my writing- fanfiction, and the three other Original Fiction pieces I'm writing at the moment. **

**Enjoy! :)**

* * *

_**"Even peace may be purchased at too high a price." ~Benjamin Franklin**_

* * *

"Wow, you seem rather chipper for the amount you were drinking last night," Penelope leaned over my office barricade. Sighing, I threw down the annoying pen that I was using to scrawl down my report. Actually, I should be really chipper, considering I got laid last night. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an evil grin creep up the side of Spencer's face.

I was infuriated by the smallest expression from him. "Well, I had a headache, but I'm all good now," I explained, "I got Victor to pick me up last night." Sure, it was a lie, but Reid had to drop a stapler at the exact moment it came from my lips. He was trying to piss me off—Spencer was testing how short my fuse really was.

"Everything alright between you two?" Garcia quipped. Even though I hadn't known the woman for a long period of time, I still thought she was interesting. Hell, I trusted her more so than Spencer. At this phase in the exasperating, one night stand, pissed off, 'I really have to work with you?' attitude; he was intent of reminding me of his already noticeable presence.

I engaged in drunken sexual intercourse with him, how could I forget him? The oxytocin released would make me forever bonded to him. Reid got up, and I concurred he was simply getting coffee, instead of freaking out and thinking he was off to snitch on me to Hotch. "Yeah, we're good. He takes out the trash, I cook the dinners, when I'm gone he eats Lean cuisine, it's the life," I commented, trying to take a comical standpoint to the whole saddening ordeal. It's not like I could tell her I had sex with Reid.

That conversation would go down so well. "You just haven't been wearing your stunning rock, that's all," she shrugged, tapping her pen on the side of the cubicle. "I guess I better get back to the bat cave," she mused, examining the contents of my workspace.

"Oh he's just taking it to be tightened, see you soon?" I questioned, typing some final statements into the overheating laptop. Reid was coming back over quickly, and as much as I hated to phrase it this way—Penelope had to go.

"Most definitely, Sunflower," she grinned, walking away in an almost skipping manner. There were more quirks to her than Reid. Nevertheless, I really think I love Penelope—just in the way she carries herself and never lets the job get to her.

As he sat down at his desk, the whole aura around me changed. Maybe it was the guilty conscious, but it was probably the oxytocin—damn you sex hormones. "We need to talk," I uttered quietly, spitting it through clenched teeth. It was a good thing our desks weren't facing other agents, and only facing the wall of the mezzanine. This was confidential, personal, matters.

"Pardon?" Spencer coughed, red flushing into his cheeks. He couldn't keep the douche-y demeanor when he was approached directly.

Gripping the pen in my hand, I shoved my laptop aside to fill in more things in the file. "We need to talk," I communicated more audibly. There was something about the way the silence hung in the air that was similar to death. Not the peaceful part of it, but the actual dying part.

"I take lunch at 12:30," he stated, piling some files neatly into the corner of his desk. His own laptop was closed under a mess of papers and manila folders. How he ever managed to get it so clean and tidy after each day, I'd never know. Mine constantly stayed in a mess, and even when I was gone, others contributed to it.

"Well, isn't that convenient, looks like I now have 12:30 lunches as well," I sarcastically snapped at him. "Let me guess Dr. Reid, our break begins in… Four minutes and twenty three seconds?" I continued to mock him. Pressure worked with Reid's boundaries. Though he'd never let his façade crack, I could tell he was perturbed at my taunting.

"Can you please stop talking like a spaz and meet me outside in five?" he snapped, shoving everything to one side and violently standing up. Beginning to shut down my computer, I felt hurt by the words. But before I could make a witty comment to the scenario, he had stormed away. He left his coffee.

That wasn't a good sign.

* * *

Once inside the confines of his car, instead of invading him with enraged inquiries, I had laid down some ground rules within the security of my mind. "Reid, no one knows about this," I demanded, turning down the music from earlier this morning. It was surprising that I never told him this riding to work.

"I wasn't planning on telling anyone," he backed out of the parking space. Apparently, he was taking me to some place that 'had good sandwiches.'

How painfully ironic. "Well it makes me look like an easy, unprofessional, slut, and it makes you look like you're a home wrecker and—it's so unprofessional," I ranted. In response he chuckled and pulled around to exit the BAU's grounds. "I'm serious Spencer; it makes an ass out of both of us!" I exclaimed robustly, feeling the water rush into my eyes. Not today, I had makeup that was vitally important to stay on.

"No, I totally agree," he sincerely revealed, "But your fuse is so short, and…"

I didn't let him finish that statement I had heard so many times before, "You like messing with it, huh?" I commented rudely.

"In a sense," he admitted, I'd give him some credit. Some people would try to weasel their way out of the comment. "Are you one of the 28% of people who fear how angry they can get?" Spencer questioned, successfully changing the subject.

"Spencer, just think about the normal spats we get into on cases… I'm not even close to frustration then," 'I shrugged, trying to express my points. "When I get truly angry, think Alexander Taylors," I choked the name out. The topic would have surfaced sooner or later. "Think Jenna Biers," I spat out the names, trying to find what truly made me angry. Victor didn't make me angry, he just hurt me. Eventually though, I'd probably hate him. And people I hate… Make me angry.

"That was one of those cases I can't shake," he cringed, navigating the back roads. That was a lot to get off of my chest. Lately, that had been bothering me, the turning point in my life. Spencer would probably want to talk about it, and I wanted to as well in a sense. It was about time I get my head screwed back on straight after four years of pushing through rehab, school, and the academy.

"The last one is being euthanized next weekend," I sighed in relief. Alexander, I'd enjoy that one the most. I'd watched Kingsley's, Peterson's, and Ramano's, but Taylor's execution would give me the most satisfaction. "Alexander," I smirked. I'm pretty sure if I wasn't reformed, I'd have been a wicked serial killer myself. "Back to the topic at hand, no one ever hears about our little… Escapade?" I tried to rein him in before he went off on tangent about my case.

"Definitely," Spencer nodded, "But, I'm evidently the home wrecker." He sighed, turning into the quaint little town of Quantico. I'm sure that if it wasn't for the Marines and the FBI, no one would even know about it. Quantico was simply tucked away in some corner of the Southeast.

"I didn't mean it like that," I defended, seeing the grin hiding behind the lines of faux hurt. "You do know that you have more annoying in you than you let on?" I questioned him, trying to inform him of his ways.

"I've never heard that," he taunted, "But I have heard I'm pretty good."

Rolling my eyes, I actually enjoyed my sexual escapade with him more than I should have. My face flushed red, and so did his. He was really out of his depth. "It wasn't bad," I commented. It wasn't like I was lying.

A long pause enveloped between us in the confines of the antique car. Yep, I'm pretty sure that was the weirdest thing to say. "Besides the repercussions and the increased tension, it was quite… pleasurable," he chuckled, trying to keep from bursting out into laughter. We were both… Out of our territory.

"Yeah, it was very nice…" I stammered, trying to decide what to change the subject to. "You're a completely different person when you're not trying to find the answer to something," I observed out loud. It was a fact that made us staunch opposites in the field.

"As are you," he muttered, continuing, "You become more spastic."

* * *

My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. Pulling it out to examine the caller, upon seeing her smiling face, I pressed ignore. Sisters, they are such close creatures. Juliet and I, though, we are antonyms. She's thirty six, she's married, and she has about five children and another on the way. Juliet's relationship with me was frayed from the beginning, but now? She could care less, unless it involved my job, because that was unfair to Victor.

Personally, I thought it was none of her damn business. If she doesn't care about me, than she shouldn't care about my relationship. Rubbing my temples, I was waiting for Reid to get out of a meeting so he could drive me home. The envelope that Victor had delivered with some box of chocolates that I had given to Garcia, JJ, and Emily, was eyeing me down on the desk. I knew it was some sort of card. Some sort of apology would be written in it. Deciding to be brave, I opened it up.

Pretty watercolor flowers were on the front of the generic "Thinking of you," card. A sheet of notebook paper was folded nicely up in the contents of the cardstock. Then the pressing question hit me. How'd he know I was even here? I never told him I was back in the office.

Shuttering I unfolded the newly found multiple sheets. Pushing my hair behind my ears, I felt the confusion bubble up in me. The black box sitting idly on my desk started buzzing, picking it up, I began stuffing the contents of the letter into the envelope. "Florence Carter," I answered, picking the phone up and pressed it against my shoulder.

"Hey, Flo, can you come up to my office?" Hotch requested, his voice astoundingly deeper on the line than in real life. His voice had domineering undertones to it, the decibels demanded attention.

"Sure, I'll be up," I replied. He gave me the generic 'see you soon' statement, and I pressed the phone down on the cradle lightly. Throwing items into my bag, I grabbed my report that I had to turn in anyways. Many worries clouded my common sense, mainly the acts of infidelity committed last night. That and the events that led up to it.

What if Spencer snitched on me and cost me my job. This job that I had been working so hard for… What if it was all over? Shaking my inhibitions, I threw the bag over my shoulder, and before I knew it, I was knocking lightly on Hotchner's door. "Come in," he called lightly. Twisting the knob, he had papers in his hand and a distraught look on his face. "You can sit, this might be a while," he sighed, "You don't have anywhere you need to be?"

"No sir, what's this about?" I flushed red, closing the door behind me with a shaky hand. I hated these moments; I could feel the heat pool into my palms as I quietly took a seat.

"Flo, you didn't pass your drug test," he said sternly. Outrage was my main emotion. Did Aaron believe I was using? Reaching down beside me I shuffled my fingers through the file folders nudged in the leather.

Selecting the one that was labeled, 'Personal Docs,' I fetched for the photocopy of my prescription. Hotch held up his copy as soon as I held up mine. "Did my wavier take affect for the multi panel test?" I queried, gathering my copies for that.

"Garcia looked it all up; turns out your wavier never made it past our Section Chief. But tomorrow morning, I'm arranging to have you re-tested, and I will talk to Strauss down the hall about the delay," he stated, that was a large weight lifted off of my shoulders. "Sorry about the mishap," he sincerely stated.

"Thank you, Agent Hotchner," I threw the papers back into the folder, "I have my report for the past case ready," I laid the manila folder lightly on his desk.

"Have a good night Carter," he smirked. Not once did I ever see him smile. It was a rare occurrence.

"You too Aaron," I grinned slightly, advancing towards the door. Exiting the tense room, I saw Spencer pacing around the front of his desk. His eyes snapped to me as soon as I began descending the stairs. Damn these heels. Finally reaching our adjacent desks, I vocalized, "Sorry, I can be ready if you're ready."

Spencer bit his lip, at least from what I saw out of the corner of my eye.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Things sort of pick up in this chapter... REMEMBER THE LETTER!**

* * *

**_"To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering." ~Friedrich Nietzsche_**

* * *

Flo,

Look, we both know I'm terrible at apologies. Or at least, I think I'm terrible because when you come home you don't really want to have anything to do with me. Anyways, just thought I'd get you something, hopefully it'll brighten your day.

I get it—it's a scary world, and I'm not even seeing half of it. This life, it doesn't come with instructions. Nevertheless, I feel like such a hypocrite, you support me every day to continue with my music. Hell, you've been picking up my rent for the past nine months. But, Florence, I can't encourage your dream. It's scary. Don't get me wrong, I am so proud of you, it's all too confusing for me to write.

A lot of things I've been doing lately are all too confusing. I swear I am so sorry for all of it. Nothing that I did was acceptable. In the heat of the moment, when you were doing things that angered me, I felt that I wasn't in control of the situation. Recently, I've been feeling helpless, and that was not the way to regain control.

Getting to the gist of things, come back home. Our original plan might not have worked, but I have been through so much with you Florence Adrianne. Let's talk, please.

* * *

The key slipped perfectly into the lock. Turning the knob, I hesitated before pushing it open. Tonight was the night that Harrison was at class, so Victor would be there alone, with me. Applying some weight, I pushed the door open. Guitar strumming ceased and his bulky frame jolting form its resting position on the couch. Dropping my bag on the usual side table, I held out my arms to reject his embrace, "Can we talk first," I surveyed his emotions.

They were remorseful, thankfully. "Sure, you get the letter?" he questioned, eyes darting to it in my hand, he nodded in understanding. Kicking off my shoes, and letting down my hair, I redirected myself to the sofa. He sat down close next to me, before he backed away to give me space. I was glad he could read my cues and make an educated guess. "I'll let you start," he picked the lint off of his sweatpants.

"Vic," I started, "How'd you know I was back in D.C.?"

His face turned bright red, and I clenched my teeth together. There was foul play. "I saw on the credit card that you were purchasing drinks at a bar in the area," he sighed. "This isn't about that though," he swished his thick black hair back. It always made me jealous, along with his naturally olive skin.

"That's my debit card, that's an issue," I communicated, making sure to not raise my voice. "I don't know Victor, seriously, I cannot find an answer for you that doesn't involve quitting my job," I complained, running my hand through my hair roughly.

"Well, the answer should be clear," Victor shrugged, rubbing my back. I loved him, but what was I going to do? At the end of the day, I still have to answer to myself. Who is to say he won't hit me again, have non-consensual sex with me again, who is to say it won't get worse? His quick to anger attitude lately resembled a psychotic rage. "You actually have to think about it?" he hissed. The once caring touch evolved into something hostile as it wrapped itself tightly across my midsection. Pressing into my bruises, I cringed. This wasn't happening again.

"Victor, twenty years down the road, I want to be able to look at myself in the mirror," I choked out. Being on the brink of tears, I reached to the side table for the box of tissues to dab my eyes with. "You wouldn't want me to tell you to quit your dream," I snapped.

"Stop it," he demanded. Removing his hand from around me, I flinched. This time, I would not freeze, I would take him down. I knew I could. "How is that job good for you!" he yelled, the voice echoed on the walls. "Everything that made you amazing, is gone, and I'm pissed," he crossed his arms lividly.

"You want something for dinner?" I asked, leaving my seat on the comfortable red sofa. It was easier for me to think about it rather than talk about it. Without receiving an answer, I ventured into the dining room briefly to check the laptop in the corner. Logging in, I saw out of the corner of my eye that he was still very frustrated. When he got up, the sounds of his footsteps felt like someone was trying to suffocate me.

"Come on Flo, we need to talk about this," he rubbed my shoulders with much pressure. It actually felt nice. "I think we still have a chance," he quipped, looking over my shoulder.

"Victor, do you want something for dinner?" I asked again. There wasn't anything else I could say.

Batting his hands away, he did not impede his kneading of my shoulders. "No, I want to talk about our issues," he redirected the topic. Logging off the computer, I scooted the chair out and took a seat at the dining room table.

Clutching his hand, which surprisingly wasn't curled up into a tight fist. Victor wasn't affected by this. If anything, it only made him angrier. "I need time," I restated, beginning to tremble with adrenaline. Rubbing my thumb on the outside of his palm, I shivered in my own skin. "Maybe we need a little break," I suggested before thinking about it and factoring his condition.

Enraged wasn't even a strong enough word to describe him. "Really?" he raised his voice, situating himself in a standing position. My fingers curled up into balls as I jumped upwards. "I love you so damn much," he shook my shoulders.

"Get your hands off of me," I held out my arms to tell him that he needed to back off.

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"I'll give you seven seconds to get your god damn hands off of me," I threatened, flinching at every breath he took. Like a specific silence, he brought up his hand and directed a slap on my cheek. He was beginning to take his hand and backhand me. Before that event could occur, I delivered a slight push to his chest. That wasn't as effective as the punch I planned.

In return, he pushed me back. Making sure to catch myself before I tumbled, he delivered a swift kick to my side. Restraining, I flung my fist to the right side of his head. My knuckles contacted with his scalp. Attempting to sneak under the box his arms trapped me in, the wood of the china cabinet brushed up against my ankles. Juliet was right; I probably shouldn't have invested in glassware before the wedding.

It happened like a storyboard, frame by frame. In his rage, I was thrown up against the glass display case, inconveniently stocked full of more crystal; I heard the sound before I felt the pain. Retaliation was vital at the moment, and his grip was pining down my wrists above my head. Vic's puffed chest was in kicking distance, so I brought up both of my feet, a very painful experience, and placed a strategic blow to his chest. Cartilage snapped under the soles of my feet. Victor was the receiving partner.

But before he could resurface, I heard the sirens and panicked.

Detaching myself from the china cabinet, I staggered to the door, blood began saturating my back. "Thanks Vic," I raised my voice, glancing out the peephole to see the police officer parking out front. Opening the door, I wiped the tears that were falling down my face. "Good evening officer," I greeted at the front door.

Into his walkie, he said something about needing a medic.

* * *

Garcia was leaning against my desk as I managed to stumble down the steps. Her arms were crossed over her chest in a defiant standpoint. My stitches were sore, in fact, my whole back was sore. She must've known about the drug retesting, as I was an hour later than normal. Reid was on the phone with someone, but his face read 'I'm going to get you.'

Reaching my desk, I queried, "May I ask why you're loitering on my workspace?"

"May I ask why you're even here?" Penelope frustratingly expressed, "Seriously Flo, no one would think less of you if you took some time off."

Shaking my head in protest, the soreness spreading from my collarbone to my lower back erupted in protest. There was a reason I took to wearing mostly black today, and it wasn't for mourning purposes. Reid's face lit up in interest, but before he could ask the pressing question, I answered it for him, "The police were called to my house last night, and apparently Penelope has to put that on my file or something."

"No, we were all notified," Reid quipped. Julie Riley tactics were the worst secret I let him in on.

"It's nothing, I promise," I stated, sitting my stuff around Garcia. Whatever I placed on my desk, she wouldn't budge. "Seriously."

"Yeah one that gets you thrown into a china cabinet," Garcia commented, "Seriously Flo, you could've called me, I could've picked you up or something," she continued to ramble on and on. It was too sweet of her to suggest all the things she was spewing out.

Halting her, I reassured, "Garcia, thank you for being a good friend and for your concern, but I have a protective order, his brother and him are moving their stuff out, and it's over I guess."

* * *

"Reid?" I spoke softly to call his attention from over the divider. JJ was warning us of a looming case she was negotiating. As long as I could get to Alexandria by Saturday, I was okay.

"Yes?" He replied, putting down the case file he was reading at his 'normal' superhuman pace.

Biting my fingernails, I asked, "You said you were notified about my, um, visit. So did that include a discharge notice?" Crossing my fingers, I hoped that wasn't entailed with my gossip package.

"Glue didn't work because of the lack of undamaged tissues; Sutures were used on the bigger lacerations towards your collarbone and the low of your back. In all, you have a total of fifty three stitches, most of these around your neck and the previously stated areas. Barry Kinslow of Annapolis, Maryland needed forty sutures as the aftermath of a bear attack," Spencer rambled, trying to prove the severity of my case. Nothing was severe about it. So what? I got thrown into a glass fronted cabinet. The person who threw me into it had two cracked ribs.

Was I getting full blown TMZ coverage? "Do you need a place to stay?" he asked again, flashing his glittering eyes in my direction.

"Thank you Spencer, but the police didn't hesitate to throw Victor out of my house, I'll be okay," I shrugged, a notion I'd have to get rid of. That's how I would pull my stitches… eventually. Over the course of the day, I had been approaching by everyone on the team, all expressing their condolences. Some, actually most, offered me a couch, a guest room, or a place to stay. And it was always the same response.

"Well, you want company tonight?" Spencer questioned, packing up his stuff. "I mean, I'm not terribly interesting, and I probably won't be drunk… But I'm awkward," he settled on that adjective. Oh yes, Spencer, you are one gauche little bloke.

"No thanks," I coldly returned his offers.


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: **There references to lyrics I believe are in the public domain, but I do not own the song. It has to be in the domain, Guttenburg has a MP3 and almost every artist out there has made a cover of it. So, yeah, I only put snippets. So, yeah, please review, don't report. Especially for nonsense.

At the very least, if you have a problem with it, tell me. I can fix it if it really bothers you that much.

I don't own the song, and it's called "Hallelujah." Rufus Wainwright in my opinion does a pretty good cover. Jeff Buckley does a nice one as well.

Thank you for the reviews! And sorry... Flo does have some more coldness and bitter behaviors ahead, as well as Spencer. :) Sorry, they'll get over themselves soon enough, or will they...

* * *

**_"For every dark night there is a brighter day." ~Tupac Shakur_**

* * *

"You are persistent," I whined, nudging myself into the comfortable mountain of pillows Reid had built for me. "What happens if I bleed all over these?" I pressed, trying to get him to stop. Instead another throw pillow was ripped from its plastic bag and propped up behind me.

"Then I'll wash them," Spencer shrugged. Ironically, I was in my own home with him. Somehow, the weasel had turned a 'no' into a, 'sure you can come over to my place.'

Shaking my head, I hiked up my falling bra strap and tucked it under my pajama styled tank top. Spencer then proceeded to press play on the DVD player. He was crazy if he thought I was staying up that late to watch a movie with him. Okay, late translated into ten o'clock, but I was tired.

Closing my eyes, I nestled my face into one of the pillows. Sleep came all too naturally.

* * *

My hand, instead of my foot, made contact with someone's face. Snapping out of my dream state, I saw Spencer's legs stretched out on my couch, and his head lay in my lap with a frowning disposition. "Flo?" he yawned, pushing my hand off of his pale features. Instead of completely extracting them, I decided to run my fingers through his mane of hair.

"Just a bad dream," I commented. Extending my legs, I decided now would be a good time to shower.

"Where are you going?" he asked protectively as I rose upwards. He scrambled to sit straight up again.

Gesturing upstairs, I gave him an evil glance, "Simply going to shower."

"You need any help with the dressings?" Spencer motioned to his back. Shaking my head profusely, he counter argued, "I'm not trying to be cute or anything," he promised, giving me a face I couldn't say no to. No matter my uncomfortable feelings, I'd probably need help with it.

"Fine," I muttered, grabbing his hand and leading him up the stairs. Opening the door to _our _old bedroom, I pointed to the bed and he actually sat there. Retreating into the bathroom, I closed the door softly behind me. Ripping off all of my upper garments in a hurry, I spun around to grab a fluffy towel to cover up my front. Taking a deep breath, I sulked back outside. Making a pit stop near the dresser, I turned on Victor's playlist.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Spencer crawled over to remove the bandages. "Just tell me if I'm being too rough," he reminded me. I could see him in the mirror positioned in front of us, and how delicately his fingers were moving. There were a few pinches and pulls, but no searing pain, and that's what I was thankful for. But most of the pain I was going through at the moment was due to the song playing on the stereo at the moment. Tears began rolling down my cheeks at the sweet notes. "I'm hurting you aren't I?" he questioned, immediately stopping what he was doing.

"No, you're fine," I sniffled, flipping my hand to tell him to keep going. As another bloody bandage was removed from my back, the air stung the wounds. More time elapsed, but not before the end of the song, I cracked, "That's him singing the song," I confided. Shaking my head, I decided to give him more information and pull myself together, "Victor, he used to sing that song for me."

"I can turn it off," Spencer's eyes got very wide.

"No, I like it," I admitted. Slowly, I began to recite the verse in unison with Victor's vocals, "Love is not a victory march…"

"Hallelujah," Reid blankly rehearsed along with me. We weren't singing, but we were just saying the verses. "He's an excellent singer," he complimented.

"I know, he had the whole world at his fingertips," I grinned at the old times, trying to remember when we were young and stupid together. But one of us had to grow up, and it so happens that they get hurt more so often than the ones living in ignorant bliss. Ignorance is immortality. "I'm sort of hoping he goes back to school, he was accepted into Curtis," I pointed out, bragging on my ex-fiancée.

"… The holy dove... Hallelujah," we both rehearsed together. The last piece of gauze was removed and I excused myself to my much needed shower.

The shower wasn't as long as I needed it to be, and I exited the bathroom to find an empty bedroom. Racing down the steps two at a time, I rushed outside on my porch in a towel. Only thing to see was Reid getting into his car. He stared at me for a split second, and decided to come back up on the porch. Quite forcefully, much to my surprise, he positioned me back in my living room. "You're such a spaz," he jeered, his hands resting on my shoulders lightly, careful about how much pressure he put on my sutures.

"I thought you were going to stay," I complained, removing his thin and nimble fingers from my bare skin. Hitching up my towel, I shook out my wet hair and he jumped back in protest.

Reid blushed, I had cornered him. "Well, I was going to go home… But I guess I can stay," he suggested.

"I don't want to keep you here if you don't want to…" I tried to tell him I didn't mind, and I attempted to sound not so clingy, but it failed.

"No, I'd actually love to stay with you," he reassured. "I just need to go fetch an extra shirt or two out of the back of my car, and actually turn the rust bucket off," Spencer noted aloud. Nodding my head in agreement, I waited until he left so I could scurry upstairs and slip into my favorite pair of pajamas. Coincidently, we were both done about the same time, and I met him at the foot of my stairs. "I can sleep down here, it's fine," Spencer pointed to the couch.

"We've slept together before, you don't have to," I reminded him.

* * *

"This is uncomfortable," Reid whispered, tapping my shin with his chilly foot.

"Too many covers?" I queried, removing one of my hands from his waist, I threw the top quilt off. Shivering, he pulled that back over his shoulders, which was pulled over my head.

Shaking his head, he remarked, "I'm the inner spoon, it's weird." Giggling, I aimed a swift kick to his heel.

"Silly Spencer, savor being the inside spoon," I mocked him, planting a kiss on his back. For something that was supposed to be strictly platonic, it didn't end up that way. Quickly his body turned around, careful not to touch anything on my back, and engulfed me in his skeleton-y frame. Sadly, he was a lot taller than me, and I had to say, he won.

His long bony arms caged me closer to him. "For someone so dramatic, you surely hate any sort of affectionate behavior directed towards you," I muttered, snuggling up closer to him.

"Isn't that more natural?" he questioned, nestling his head between my ear and collarbone. "Almost 75% of women are the inside spoon," he informed me, kissing my collarbone sweetly.

"This is so wrong," I returned his genuine observations. "I like it, but it is so wrong," I continued, turning my head to kiss his cheek.

"Well, as long as we can keep a secret, it isn't technically wrong."


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: There isn't a lot of Romance... Oh well, whatever. I can be sweet and sentimental when I'm dead :P.**

**ENJOY OR... PIE?**

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**"Sometimes, I push you away so you can pull me closer" ~Anonymous**

* * *

"Local case?" I questioned, looking around at all the people in uniform. I was enjoying new found freedom as my stitches were removed yesterday afternoon at the Physician's office. Two weeks was a long wait for my skin to bind back together.

Prentiss observed the bullpen, what a mess it all was, reaching into my bag, I popped out a pill and dry swallowed it. "Those are going to kill you one day," Spencer muttered under his breath crudely.

"Not unless your nagging gets to me first," I returned the snarky comment. Emily and Derek exchanged worried looks between each other. Everyone had known Reid had taken me under his wing in a sense, but I don't think they knew the severity of that.

Around the bullpen, there was so many alpha males packed into one place, it hurt. It almost made me want to cower under Spencer's flimsy arm. "It looks like 9/11 all over again," Derek observed, looking from left to right occasionally.

"I wouldn't know, I was a fourteen," I dismissed it. _And I was high, in fact, quite stoned_. We were making quick process to the conference room.

"Thanks for making me feel incredibly old," Derek grimaced, holding the door open for all of us. Hotch and Rossi looked rather flustered as we entered the conference room.

An Asian woman in a lab coat greeted us with a, "I'm sorry to meet under these circumstances."

Reid took to it to reply dumbfounding manner, "What circumstances?"

Nudging him in the shoulder, "You need to stop hanging out with me," I muttered. Rossi grinned at the witty insult. They all continued talking. Big issues I picked up on were the media blackout, the U.S. Army from Fort Detrick, and of course, the impending doom of the anthrax. Being handed a tray of pills, I turned to Dr. Kimura, "I can take these with Ritalin, right?"

Spencer entered the conversation, "It is Ciprofloxacin isn't it?"

She nodded her head, and stared at Spencer's inept knowledge of everything. She'd have to get used to it, "You should be fine, and it is an extended release tablet of Cipro."

Spencer shook his head in rebuttal. This is what must happen if you know it all. Sighing in disbelief, I listened to his rant as the team began to pace quietly back and forth. "She has healing Tendinitis from puncture wounds, can she still take it?"

"I have Tendin-citis?" I questioned angrily. Really, he should have simply let me take the pill.

He laid the back of his hand over my swollen shoulder joint, and I swatted it away. "_Tendinitis_, but it's more likely you have Tendinosis, but Tendinitis is what the Doctor put down, " he expressed. Then I remembered my doctor saying something about a torn muscle or two… Darn it, Spencer was right.

"If you take it, you'll probably experience a further damage to your injury," Dr. Kimura explained. Setting the pills back down on the tray, Hotch gave me a discerning look.

"I mean, it's not 100% for sure method, I'm willing to risk it," I reassured the team. Rossi gave me an evil eye and Aaron didn't look like he was in the mood to argue. Spencer was rocking on his feet, and I knew I would get chewed out by everyone as soon as I walked out of the door.

Everyone was split into groups, and due to my 'excessive knowledge of drugs,' I was sent with the two doctors. Kimura was heading with her oh-so-convenient CDC buddies in a separate car. And as soon as I was forced into the passenger's seat, I knew that Reid would start his long winded lecture.

But, as he backed out of the BAU lot, he didn't say a word. Anger though, was evident on his features. "Look…" I began, not being able to bear the harrowing silence.

He interrupted me, "Don't tell me what to do, and don't give me an excuse," he exclaimed bitterly through closed teeth. The way his voice cracked made it sound as if he was on the brink of tears. Shaking my head back and forth in shame, I tried to sympathize with him.

"What do you want me to do, back out of the damn case!" I yelled back at him, not being able keep my tongue held. And I thought I was getting better at controlling my anger. "This is my choice to be here, and watch, nothing is going to happen to me!" I emphasized, but this time in a calmer manner.

"You're the youngest one," he argued. Steadily, I was beginning to see his aggressive side.

"Reid, let's be honest, I was lucky to make it past sixteen! What's age to do with it?" I continued to holler at him. The hospital was all the way in Maryland, and we still had at least an hour to go from Quantico.

He was quiet for a long while, but that didn't suppress his boiling rage. "Your blaring negativity is getting on my nerves," he hunched over the wheel. Spencer's demeanor was similar to a hissing cat with its fur all jutted out. Frowning, I decided to give him the silent treatment he wronged me with earlier.

After a minute had past, I concurred that was long enough. Nothing in comparison to the duration of his silent treatment, but it was silence nonetheless. "I'm blaringly negative? You're the one who is hypothesizing my death because I didn't take a pill that a _CDC expert_ said, 'probably isn't 100% effective against the strain,'" I fueled the animosity more so. Tonight, I wouldn't be having snuggle time with him, in fact, the thought of it disgusted me.

Instinctively, he rubbed his temple and literally smacked the radio to get it to cease playing. I personally didn't even realize the music softly humming in the background until it was absent. "Well I'm sorry I care about you," he flippantly stated, laying on the horn.

"Well, I'm sorry I'm so blaringly negative," I lowered my voice to mock him in a childish way.

"You do know that this voids your life insurance?" he decided to throw another curveball at me.

Sighing, I had an insulting remark on the tip of my tongue…

"Aw, you thought you were getting it?"

… And there it goes. Spencer's face turned pale, a ghostly color I was borderline worried about. But it was surely a striking feature derived from his anger.

It was easy to say that nothing was said for the remaining hour.

* * *

"The wind running through your hair," I mocked him, returning to the car. After the whole embarrassment he had caused me in front of Dr. Kimura, he deserved it. "You trying to be Nicholas Sparks or something?"

"Who's that?"

Sighing, I ran my fingers through my hair anxiously; we were meeting up with Morgan at the crazy scientist's home. Thankfully it wasn't but a couple of blocks away. Hopefully, just by the grace of an all loving God, could the anger tone it down a bit? It would be exceedingly awkward and unprofessional to be fighting in front of Derek.

But when did they care about being professional?

Arriving at the scene, bees buzzed around the towering rose bushes. It was a pleasant home. Quickly exiting the tension filled car, Morgan smirked as he saw us walking, "Well then." He had picked up on our body language, the way Reid sulked with his hands shoved in his pockets. The way my arms were defiantly crossed under my bust, we were quite obviously ruff characters. Reid silently cursed as he walked into a rose bush; and with that we began examining the outside.

Morgan got some sort of phone call, and I looked into the scientist's car. Not a new model, not necessarily an old one, but there were files in the front seat. Taking out my switchblade, I began sifting the razor sharp edge between the cracks of the metal. Hearing a pop, Morgan called out from the garden, "You seen Reid?"

Peering to the back door, I got wide eyed and dropped the knife, motioning Derek to back me up I drew my Glock. Burning pain hit my shoulder, but I didn't care. Following behind me, I entered the house to find Spencer locking himself behind a glass barrier. "Back away Flo," he cautioned, sincerity flooding his voice. "Get out of here," he urged.

Morgan came in, and was a little bit more demanding, "Reid, man, what are you doing?" My eyes trained on the floor.

A vial of white powder lay cracked on the floor, "God, I really hope that's cocaine," I muttered, pointing it out to Derek. The air cranked up and the powder scurried, it wasn't the consistency.

"I'm sorry," he looked at both of us. Putting the gun back in its holster, I treaded reluctantly out of the house. Grabbing my cell phone, I dialed the number seven for Reid's phone. "Hey, you read really fast right?" I asked him, jogging slightly to the car. Opening the hacked door, I reached down to dust off my switchblade.

"20,000 words a minute, but there's no way I can come out," Reid exhaled, tapping on the window far off to reveal his frustrations. Snatching the files, I sprinted back to the exterior window and held them up for him to scan. "How'd you get these?" he exclaimed into the receiver, pressing the phone between his shoulder and neck.

"It doesn't matter, I'll read them over and tell you the synopsis," I blankly said with little emotions. I couldn't allow myself to feel anything right now, or I'd be of no use. He raced away from the window to observe things around the lab. Grabbing my orange pill bottle, I dry swallowed two Ritalin and began reading. "How's it going in there?" I questioned nonchalantly.

"Well, I've gotten over the initial freak out… And there's a dead body in here," he halted. Cringing, I began reading over the diagrams. "Dead animals and clutter everywhere," he twisted his words into something so severely negative.

"Well, I've got diagrams; I recognize one of these chemical make ups, thank God for labels. There's one for Doxycycline, Hydroxyzine, Morphine, Amoxicillin, and one I presume to be the Cipro, since that one isn't labeled," I summarized. "Going on to a subsection on public works, and how certain strains are becoming immune," I continued, flipping rampantly through the pages.

"Get this, there's two sorts of handwriting," Reid expressed. "Is yours in a cursive scrawl?" he interrogated. Crossing my legs criss-cross applesauce, Morgan observed what I was doing from afar. Though he was talking on the phone, I could feel his judgmental gaze.

Shaking my head, I reluctantly answered his query, "This is typed." A rescue squad pulled up into the driveway, and I heard Spencer's sighs.

"That's not a good sign," he groaned, "Those are all medicines to treat Anthrax, and Morphine is to alleviate discomfort."

It wasn't but thirty minutes later Hotchner appeared on the scene. About ten minutes earlier, I had hung up with Reid, and he had accomplished a lot while he was in there. It was time for him to come out. Biohazard teams were setting up tents around me, and I retreated back to my Unit Chief.

"You've got to tell him something Hotch," Morgan pleaded, I nodded in agreement.

Clearing my throat, I offered, "I can go in, I used to do that under the DEA."

Aaron and Derek gave me a look that asked if I was using drugs. "You used to work for the DEA?" Morgan furrowed his brow.

Shaking his head, he looked over to the biohazard team that was suiting up. "You used to do that under DEA training, this is the FBI," Hotch snapped. I agreed, it was a reckless idea. Bowing out, I handed the packet of files towards him. "What are these Carter?" he questioned in a more polite tone.

"I got into Nichol's car and found these, they're presumably drugs that the strain is immune to, but a combination is most likely the cure," I pointed out the all the chemical make ups as he flipped through the booklet.

"You got into his car?" Hotch raised an eyebrow.

Biting my lip to refrain from saying anything nasty, I answered, "With all due respect sir, we have a search warrant, so I believe looking in the car is justified."

Taken aback by my frank statement, a smile twitched up his and Morgan's lips. "Reminds you of someone doesn't it?" Morgan suggested, looking into Aaron's unblinking gaze.

"Rossi," they both concurred at the same time.


	16. Chapter 16

AN: Since I'm done with writing my original fiction pieces today... Here ya go. I've written this up to Chapter 20... and I'm in a mood where I want to do original fiction... So I can't really do double uploads like yesterday. Reviews are appreciated.

* * *

**_"You can't judge my choices without knowing my reasons." ~Anonymous_**

* * *

"Spencer," I bit my lip. They were hosing him down, clothes and all, and he was still sweating from the fever. "I'm sorry about my childish reactions earlier," I apologized, thinking of all the hurtful things I had said to him. This was the time I had to let as many feelings out, because Reid didn't look like he had much longer.

"I'm sorry I fueled them," he sighed; Morgan gave me a worried look. He didn't know why we were talking like this, or why we were even apologizing. "And thank you for not coming in there in a suit," he stifled a laugh, "Because then you'd be doing this." He gestured to Dr. Kimura and the biohazard team. Nodding my head, I sustained a few laughs at his half hearted joke.

Another round of painful coughing overtook his body, and he attempted to suppress them. "You should probably go help Hotch," Spencer managed; his hair had curled from the humidity and was damp from the showers.

"I'm seeing you off to the hospital, kid," Morgan pressured. Reid began undoing his tie and staring at us both. Personally, I was trying to prevent tears from even coming to my eyes.

"I'm about to get naked so they can scrub me down. You sure that's something you 'wanna see?" Reid raised his eyebrows and stared at the both of us. He stopped momentarily at me, and I burst out into laughter. My sense of humor was the reason I was going to hell, he appeared so pathetic, and his untimely humor sent me over the edge.

"Not again, that is," I blinked, that got a few giggles from him. Even though normally he'd be completely appalled if I said that, he was completely cool with it because Morgan thought of it as a joke. "I'll be there as soon as we're done," I reassured him, waving. Morgan exited as well, feigning a smile.

* * *

After Chad Brown was put away, I said I'd go and see Spencer. But after the warning form Garcia earlier, I was scared. So instead of going to see him, I lingered around the house, making small talk with Harrison. "So, he's been admitted?" I questioned him, repositioning the ice pack covering my back.

"Yeah, he wasn't in the right frame of mind," the art student expressed to me. He reminded me of his brother, but the voice was off. "I don't condone any of the stuff he did to you," Harrison added, screwing tops back onto the various sets of paint.

"I know, I feel guilty in a sense. Victor was there for me when I was picking my life back up, and I'm throwing him out when he needs help," I admitted, it was a burden my heart had carried for several days. Harrison wasn't someone I was that fond of talking to about this stuff, but for someone so young, he had an abundance of insight and wisdom. It was weird I kept referring to him as young, he was several months older than me. Maybe it's because I feel incredibly old.

"I'm not trying to offend you in any way," Harrison bit his lip, trying to figure out what to say, and how to go about saying it. "You're hurting him if you can't be there through everything, 'ya know?" Deciding to wean more out of him, I remained silent. Anxiously he trained his thoughtful, but confused, gaze back to me, "With your job and everything, you can't be there every step of the way."

"I know that, and I hate to think that my job and my choices have caused all of this," I communicated. Harrison remained silent, but in a way that signaled he was hurt. My life had to be an unsolvable puzzle riddled with feelings. If it were a perfect world, there wouldn't be any emotions.

"I can tell you what I've observed living with you guys for a year and a half," Harrison offered, trying to give me glimpse of his perception. I never thought he'd be distraught over all of this. Sure, I hung out with him, helped him pick up a few girls, introduced him to Jenelle, and we'd play video games with Victor, but I never thought we had a true relation other than pending in-law. Looking back on it all, it made sense, I was his mother he never really had.

"Go ahead," I lightened up. Now that I had finally realized what I meant to him, I wanted to hear what he had to say.

And boy, he looked like he was about to spit out a short novel, "You're more… independent than Victor is. He's always had a small annoyance with your ambitious attitude, and your stubbornness to receive affection," he stammered, pausing for a brief moment to get his thoughts together. "But that's one of the things he loved about you. Anyways… He gives affection, and you give affection, but your method isn't compatible if that makes sense. It goes back to you being more independent than him," he was trying to patch all of his words up to sugar coat everything. "He wanted someone to be more dependent than he was. And I've probably offended you in some way, but that's what I get from it," he concluded, taking in a large breath of air he so desperately needed.

"It does make sense, and I do agree with you," I added, watching him tote the boxes of paint towards the door.

Harrison winked, and blushed a little bit, "I remember when he first met you, and he kept talking about you and telling me that I should go after you." I remembered that too.

"So I'm the one that got away?" I shrugged, trying to poke fun at the heavy conversation. Harrison wasn't bad looking, he was just too quiet and he had some things to work out at the time.

"Nah," he casually slurred, "You're attractive and all, but you're my lady-bro," he added to avoid insulting me.

It was nice to hear that from him, it helped me establish a relation to my ex-in-law.

* * *

Finishing my stacks of paperwork, I sighed in relief when I dropped them off at Hotch's office. The sullen Unit Chief thanked me for following his orders instead of Agent Rossi's, and further explained that, 'He knew the motives behind sending me inside, and it wasn't necessarily a bad move.' Also, a much anticipated apology was delivered on account of his on-edge attitude at Dr. Nichol's home. In all, I thought it was very high of him to apologize, even though he didn't need to.

Gathering things at her desk, she thought she would go down to Penelope's bat cave to assist in anything else. But, it seems as if Wonder Woman was coming down the steps now. Along with JJ, and some man she didn't recognize, the women made eye contact with her and stopped at Reid's desk. "Hey Sunshine," Garcia greeted, smiling.

"Hey, I was just about to come and see you," I grinned. JJ appeared annoyed at my presence, she usually was. Either way, I wasn't here to like anyone or make friends, I was here to put away bad people.

"This is Agent Anderson, who is simply going to fill in for Pretty Boy while he's recovering," she introduced the exact opposite of Spencer.

"And Anderson, this is our relatively new SSA Florence Carter," JJ intervened, actually sticking up for me. Her cell phone began ringing ad she excused herself.

"Nice to meet you Agent Anderson," I greeted him, shaking his clammy hand.

"You too Agent Carter," he smiled weakly.

Redirecting himself to Reid's desk, he made a point not to touch a single thing. Weird. Instead, he got out his own materials, and separate case files to begin working. "You said you were coming to see me gorgeous?" Garcia quipped, leaning against my desk. Leaning on the structure beside her, I was trying to word my request right.

Ignoring the small details, I blurted, "How's he doing?"

"Well, I got an update from Morgan, and the cure was in the inhaler. Reid and the other patients are making a recovery as we speak," Garcia added. "He kept asking about you at lunch when we went to see him," she threw that in the mix for a guilt trip.

Sighing, I knew I'd have to see him sooner or later.

Later was easier.


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: timeladyanatonks, thank you so much for the reviews! Reviews really do encourage me to push through this story and all my other ones :).**

**Enjoy! :)**

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_**"As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words." ~William Shakespeare**_

* * *

Pacing down the hallway cautiously, the bubbly receptionist informed me he was in Suite 4C. I wanted to take as long as possible, considering Morgan was probably residing in the room like a watchdog. Though, when I reached the room, Reid had a large textbook in his lap. Instead of the paper gown Garcia informed me of the other day, he was wearing hospital pajamas. His eyes didn't snap up due to the fact I was in everyday clothing and I wasn't in heels.

Cold stung my legs, I was wearing shorts for the first time in months. Knocking quietly on the metal frame of what was probably a door at some point, but now was just an arch with a curtain pushed to the side, his head jolted up. He had on glasses, which were incredible thick and very antiquated. "Hey," I greeted with all the enthusiasm I could manage. A smile plastered on his face.

"I knew you'd be the last one to come here," he flipped the page and dog eared it to keep his place. There were several stack of these textbooks. Laying the book on top of the teetering stack, I observed all the monitors that were positioned around him, the tubes running from his nose, the needles taped into his skin.

"Don't profile me Spencer Reid," I warned him, staring at the skin rubbed raw around his wrists. Next to the purple bruise that signified the anthrax, and all the various needles and tape, they were one of the most predominant features.

He self consciously ran his finger over the two inch wide lines. "Yeah, they had to restrain me because I was insistent on tearing the oxygen out in my sleep," he admitted, blushing.

"What are we going to do with you," I sarcastically mocked, not knowing where to take the conversation. "How are you doing in here?" I questioned, trying to gauge his reaction. No one had sent him flowers, which was probably a good thing considering his fragile respiratory state. There were a few cards on the table beside the books, and other than that… It was another hospital room.

"It hurts," he coughed into his elbow, but not as violently as before. "And I'm getting kind of bored not going anywhere, or doing anything, or drinking coffee," he threw in a dry laugh, "But I can sleep, and I don't have to wear my contacts—you know how that feels." It was true, I liked glasses much more than the lenses I was woefully forced to wear. "Yeah, and I'm not psyched about my replacement," Reid scowled.

"What, Anderson? Anderson isn't your replacement," I reassured him, watching his reactions to that statement. Anderson was the stark opposite of Spencer. No one could replace Reid, there's not someone that talented and awkward at the same time.

Spencer still glared at me, and I didn't know why. Whether it was from the topic of Anderson, or me just being myself, I was dumfounded at his newly surfaced animosity. Maybe that was the problem; Anderson was too buff for Reid's liking. He was insecure. "Don't profile me Florence Adrian," Spencer snarled as if he was listening my thoughts.

Lowering my voice to mock his tone and to lighten the sour mood, I rebutted, "Don't tell me what to do." A weak grin crept up his pale face. This smile though communicated he was more annoyed with my presence than delighted by it.

"What's bothering you?" he seriously inquired, placing the back of his hand on my shoulder again. Expecting fiery pain, it didn't come, mostly because Reid's hand was so limp and weak. "Your shoulder acting up?" he worried.

Removing his hand from my shoulder respectfully instead of hitting it away, I shook my head. "Reid, you're the one with IV's taped into your skin," I chuckled. A solid knock on the door revealed an eavesdropper. Turning my head, I saw Morgan and Anderson. The so called 'replacement' was propped up against the metal frame. Hopefully they didn't hear the preceding conversation.

"She'll live," Derek shrugged, taking a seat across the bed. I had to thank him later. Anderson came and sat down beside me and turned off his cell phone.

Reid muttered something to the effect of, 'not if you internally bleed.' Derek and the boy genius began chatting, and Anderson joined in several times as well, I sort of sat there nodding like a lost Barbie doll. The conversation veered towards Anderson and Morgan, and Reid and I began chatting aimlessly on less grave topics, and more trivial matters. We talked about books he was reading, illegal drug cartels, and he applauded my knowledge of the chemical structures of the medications diagrammed earlier on the case. Astoundingly, I actually got most of them correct, but I flubbed on the Cipro.

The nurse came around and told everyone that visiting hours would be over in ten minutes, and we all gave our goodbyes to Spencer. Morgan added an 'I'll see you tomorrow,' which made me feel excessively guilty. I was pretty sure I purely stressed Reid out by being there, so that fueled my inhibitions to visit him while he was in the hospital.

* * *

Once in the parking garage, Morgan had parked on the top level, whilst Anderson and I had parked on the same section. "How long have you been with the FBI?" I questioned him as he fiddled with his phone in his pocket.

"About, six years or so," he answered, rolling his shoulders around in the suit he was wearing. His eyes were really striking; they were one of the first things I noticed. "I was going to ask you earlier, but I never got the chance to," he stopped and put his hands in his pockets. Skidding to a halt in my sneakers, he stuttered, "I-I, don't have your number in case a case pops up or anything."

Fidgeting around in my purse, I tried to spot a business card for him. To no avail, I settled on a sharpie marker. Grabbing his hand, I scrawled the digits on the back of it—but out of the corner of my eye in the stairwell, I saw Morgan grinning a mile wide. Anderson was strictly platonic. I was strictly platonic. Nothing was happening.

* * *

Derek, Penelope, and I, reluctantly, were walking down the hallway of the hospital. They decided that it would be a good idea to see Reid on our lunch break, and they conned me into tagging along. "So, how'd he ask you?"The woman questioned as we walked into Spencer's room.

"Garcia," I groaned, "Hello genius," I greeted the alert figure upright on bed rest. Sitting to his right like I was last night, Penelope took the place of Anderson in this conversation.

"What's going on?" he tried to ask in the least protective way possible. The way he threw it out there though wasn't fooling anyone. Derek smirked, as I shook my finger at him.

"Derek Morgan!" I threatened. It was strictly platonic, I swear to God, the Father, the Holy Ghost, and I don't know why he had to drive by us talking on the trunk of my car. What a nosy little turd Morgan was.

Garcia stiffened at the sound of my voice, "Anderson came with her phone number written on his hand this morning." She giggled. Chucking her in the bicep with my elbow, she recoiled at my touch.

"It gets better; at the parking garage, I saw them perched up on the back of Flo's car talking," Morgan continued with the embarrassment. Reid stared at me for the longest time with a nasty gaze in his tawny irises. Before long, in order to remain unsuspicious, he let a grin creak through his disappointment.

"Strictly platonic," I emphasized. Derek rolled his eyes. But Spencer's looked as if they were glistening.

* * *

After snooping around to see who was going to see Reid this afternoon, I realized that no one was going after work. So I finished my work early accordingly, and avoided Anderson at all costs. Now, I was waiting down the hall rubbing my temples. Why did they have to walk in on that note? Spencer was genuinely hurt.

Facing my fears, I tapped on the metal to find him still reading a book. The pile on the floor was growing. "Hey," I sheepishly greeted, sitting back down in the seat I have chosen the three times I have visited.

His arms were extended outwards, "You going to give me a hug or what?" he crudely questioned.

"I don't want to hurt you…" I stammered, unsure of what to do.

"_Hug me,_" he demanded once again. Since it wasn't good to argue with him, she got up and leaned over the side of the bed to hug him. Reid then got extremely out of character, pulling her close with strength an anthrax patient, at least a severe case like this, shouldn't have. His lips pressed into my neck, and he whispered, "You smell nice."I busted out laughing and collapsed back into my chair. Given it was a rude gesture, he gave me a peculiar look and became pale. "I give you a sincere compliment and a hug, and you burst into the biggest round of laughter I've ever heard… What's your problem?" he exclaimed, utterly confused.

Trying to regain my breath, I caught a glimpse of his face and tried to become serious. It didn't work the first time, but I managed the second time, "You have oxygen tu-tu-bes in your nose!" Ceasing my laughter, I saw his jaw set, he was still angry.

"So your problem is my medical treatment?" he responded.

"No I don't have a problem, but I think you do," I smiled, trying to make it easier for him. Rubbing the back of his surprisingly needle-free hand, he sighed heavily. "Testosterone much?" I giggled, referring to his angsty, protective behavior.

Reid glanced at me and blushed red as his fresh crimson, monochromatic, hospital wares. "I really care about you," he sincerely confessed.

Knowing it took a lot for him to say that, and knowing I felt the same way, I admitted, "I do too." That's why I was guilty about not seeing him. It's the sole reason I avoided Anderson today, and was embarrassed by Garcia and Morgan bringing him up. Caring for Spencer was one of the factors that made me believe it should've been me in his position. "Which is why I can say that you really need to shave," I tried to cover my emotions with a joke. Like always, it worked.

"And what if I don't?" Reid taunted, leaning towards me on his side.

"You won't be getting any kisses from me," I slouched forward to tuck his hair behind his ears. With his glasses on, he looked like some forty year old pedophile that worked at Radio Shack.

I cared for him though, nonetheless. "I was actually getting some?" he taunted, putting a confident smirk on his features.

"You know you are more annoying than you let on, Spencer Reid?" I quoted myself, watching his brain work in the silence after that.

Flopping back over on his back, he murmured loud enough for me to hear, "You are such a spaz."


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: This is why the FBI does not get put on cases they are personally involved in... I'll warn you it does get rather_ brutal _in this chapter. Thank you to timeladyanatonks for reviewing :). **

**Thank you for following and reading my story, it means a lot. **

**Enjoy!**

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**_"All stories should have some honesty and truth in them, otherwise you're just playing about." ~Nigel Kneale_**

* * *

The whole team stared as Morgan and I walked in, we were called in for some sort of case I assumed. "Sorry for the late call," JJ apologized. Sure you were, wench, I thought.

"Morgan, Carter," Hotch addressed, folding his hands together on top of the table, "You two have been selected to undertake in an undercover case." Reid stiffened at 'undercover,' along with Prentiss.

"Involving a large chain of underground clubs in Seattle," JJ pulled up the pictures on the screen.

Shaking my head, I stood there in disbelief. "Jesus," I whispered.

"Continuing," she bitterly commented on my slandering, "There is reason to believe that these spots are either housing meth labs, or processing heroin after several other agents have been unsuccessful at an official raid."

Nodding my head, "I can get us in," I hung my head low in shame.

* * *

"No Morgan," I rejected a club look he probably wore in Chicago. But this was Seattle. These clubs were heroin hotspots. Even though Reid would probably be the best person to _grunge_ up, Morgan was put with me for a reason. Apparently since something went wrong with a raid earlier in the year, the whole team was attending, minus JJ. Turning the fresh new piercing in my lip, Spencer watched in disgust, "I'm not psyched about it either," I admitted.

"You said you could get us in," Derek mentioned. His muscle shirt showed off a tattoo- that was something to play up.

Shrugging, I dug around in my spongy brain to remember the clubs of interest we were speaking about. "Yeah, I can get you into a lot of places you wouldn't be proud of," I bit the left side of my lip that wasn't re-pierced. "But, I can tell you what and what not to do," I quipped, attempting to make my conscious clear again. Those experiences had a purpose in my life, and now, I can help others.

"Well, go ahead," Derek sat down, preparing to listen along with Spencer and Prentiss.

Beginning to list things off in my head, I began with, "First off, no one goes in for drugs until 1:27 in the morning, and if you're going for the drugs, you come in at 11:30PM." Taking a breath, I continued, "Girls in dresses or skirts aren't there for drugs, as are girls in long pants."

Hotchner caught wind to my conversation. He and Rossi exited their studying on the couch, and migrated towards the adjacent section across the aisle. "It's cold in Seattle in May, people with shorts on would be freezing," Hotch debated.

"Not if you're high on heroin," I counter argued.

Rossi pondered, his face was deeply etched in thought, "Or if you're jumping around in a club."

"Unlike the girls, guys will always wear jeans," I added, everyone was intrigued at my knowledge of the joint. "There's a password, it's a receipt signed by the bartender saying you didn't drink anything, and you buy your needle there," I twisted my uncomfortable lip ring again, and at a time I actually thought a lip piercing was attractive. The only reason I agreed was because Garcia told me there was a microphone inside the decorative ball.

Finishing my speech, I sighed, "And these are the idiots that cut their heroin with fets."

* * *

By 1:28, Morgan and I had our receipts, and we were ready to call in reinforcements. The only thing left was that we had to go in and see the drugs. Ridiculous, but it is the protocol I had to obtain to. We were spaced out, I was nearing the front. A man, vaguely familiar; he looked like someone I should have remembered. "Hey Adrian," he greeted. His chocolaty brown hair had been cropped and his eyes were like Spencer's, except these had the capacity of evil.

"Hey," I smirked, "I'm just looking around tonight," I informed him. With that, his eyes dilated and constricted very quickly. Wrong thing to say, I kicked myself over and over.

"That's all we're accepting inside tonight," he announced to the mob.

Meeting Morgan's eyes in the crowd, I had to let him know I was alright, tucking my hair behind my ear; I flashed thumbs up to him. As soon as the other guy shut the door, I was pulled through the apartment with fury by the man who knew my name. In the main room, I could hear the man who shut the door saying something about a covert agent, my heart pounded in my chest. "Let go," I muttered angrily under my breath, successfully pushing him off of me.

Downstairs, I heard their booming voices echo on the wallboards. Chocolate haired man snickered at my rebuttal and drew a gun. Shushing everyone, the man bellowed, "I have SSA Carter in here, at gunpoint, and if SSA Morgan breaks down the door, everyone will die," he threatened. Four men stood around the perimeter of the living area, and another joined chocolate haired man and me to another room. Closing the door behind him, locking it twice, and putting up a barricade, I could tell he wasn't hyper vigilant at all. "Adrian, it's been a while," he snarled, tossing the pistol to his accomplice.

"Who the hell are you?" I questioned in a practiced monotone. As long as I didn't show him fear, I'd be safe. The room, ironically, was a girls. Pink and orange decorations, different types of makeup on the sink, it was a dorm room in a sense. There would be no other reason to have a sink in the room.

"It's funny what you miss when you're all _doped_ up," he curled his words sadistically. Pushing me in the direction of the bed, I failed to stumble like he wanted me to. "I'm Nathan," he smirked, pushing me again to the rough, carpeted, floor. "Someone's angry," he taunted, noticing my shaking and directing a blow straight to my stomach. "Wanna' fight," Nathan suggested.

"Take gunman out of here and be my guest," I sat up on the floor. At the curt nod of his head, the gunman left the locked up room. After the intimidating, weapon bearing, man left; Nathan began to barricade the entrance again.

"Ladies first," he gestured.

"How polite of you," I stood up, brushing myself off. Glancing at the windows, I saw the blue and red lights flashing. But as soon as I was on my feet, Nathan tackled me to the floor.

He repeatedly struck my head with his fist. Straddling my waist, he forgot that I had use of my hands. Grabbing a thick, hardcover, Bible from the bookshelf to my left, I began hitting him with it in the same manner he was to me. Managed to swat his head good enough to hit it against the headboard, I took to hurling my weapon at the blinds. It rebounded nonetheless. Retrieving the rather heavy bookend, I tossed it through the window, success.

Further angering him, he regained strength, kicking him in the gut didn't keep him at bay. Adrenaline pumped through his body, and the second his eyes lit up I knew I was in serious trouble. Taking my frame like a twig, he literally threw me up against the sink. What is up with me and getting thrown through glass? Pinning my arms above my head, he saw the curling iron to his right.

Flicking it on, he gave me a smile that sent shivers down my back. Pressing his finger to my lips, he cooed, "Sh, Sh, Sh."

"You're going to hell for this; faster than that knick knack fell to the ground," I hinted to the team. With his free hand, he turned the dial on the handle all the way up.

"Hey, Jake!" he called out; a figure emerged from a bathroom door with a large shot gun. "Go get me that thing off of the bed," he ordered. A roll of tape was thrown onto the counter.

* * *

About twenty minutes later, the iron beeped to signify it was ready. Getting up from his post directly in front of me on the bed, he came forward with scissors, proceeding to cut the bottom half of my shirt. So far in the whole ordeal, I hadn't cried. Nathan was not receiving that sort of satisfaction. "So calm," he commented, shoving my head into the wall. Finishing the destruction of my shirt, the flimsy fabric fell down from my midsection to the floor.

Readying the curling iron, he tapped it lightly against my stomach as a trial to his sick torture. Closing my eyes, I heard once that pain is only a theory, that if you don't think it exists—it doesn't. Nathan's hand contracted with my face, "You're going to watch," he demanded.

* * *

***cringe* Nathan is quite a... Colorful character. Shows how sometimes the most intelligent people can contribute to evil in the world. **


	19. Chapter 19

**AN: thank you for the review once more! And we have a new follower... Whee!**

**Thank you, and enjoy the chapter**!

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**_"Children show scars like medals. Lovers use them as secrets to reveal. A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh." ~Leonard Cohen (Ironically the original writer for the song "Hallelujah." Small world?)_**

* * *

Even though I was working on tearing the tape, I couldn't muster the strength to, I was too weak. Nathan had gone to sleep, and I got to wither in pain. My heart took a leap in my chest as soon as a swat laser trained on his back. I hushed quietly, "Now."

The far off sniper had gotten him, straight into his back. Jake roused upwards in the closet, but Morgan and Emily came inside the window, turns out they were waiting for the right moment. Derek took his silenced weapon and shot the guard immediately. Prentiss came over and began severing the tape crudely installed around my wrists and legs. Her face was warped into something unreadable, painful almost. Two paramedics came _down_ the stairs and proceeded to come through the window.

"No, I can walk," I reassured them. Removing my back from the mirror, I felt nauseous at the sudden shift of my weight. It certainly didn't hurt as bad as when I was thrown up against the cabinet.

Emily held me back firmly by my collarbone. She didn't hurt me, but I knew she was right, "No you're not." The two medics hurriedly strapped me to the board and rushed me back out of the window. Rain kissed my exposed midriff and the cold numbed my wound. Thankfully this building was old, and there were no ladders.

At the bottom, some familiar voice was saying that 'they got her,' and I remembered being put onto a wheeled stretcher at some point. After I was put into the ambulance, I guess I blacked out or something.

* * *

Pushing my eyes open for the second time, it was Reid sitting beside me, so the familiar voice was Reid. The first time I opened my eyes, which felt like a lifetime ago, it was too painful and I asked for more medicine. An ex-addict asking for more medicine sounds suspicious doesn't it?

Now, the pain was bearable. Even though I physically alright, my brain had erupted into a slew of questions I wanted answered. "How bad is it?" I questioned, jolting up in the hospital bed lying completely parallel to the floor. My excessive wound rejected the movement. Pain replaced the adrenaline and I felt the stitches encasing my back once more.

Pressing the call button, Spencer scolded, "Stay still." His head didn't even pick up from the book he was focused on. "You're up again," he observed aloud.

"No Spencer, I have a really bad case of sleep walking," I clutched my side. The thin hospital blanket wrapped around me, and instead of the tiresome paper gown, they actually provided me with a cloth gown with no ties in the back. Two people on the other side chuckled. Gently letting myself fall back to my resting position, I saw Morgan and Prentiss giggling, and a sullen Rossi reading in the back corner. "I'm too old to be hanging out with musicians!" I exclaimed. Emily caught onto the end of my joke. "My sense of humor is going to send me to hell," I muttered softly.

I wanted to groan and complain about the pain from lying like this in bed. If I moved though, my sides would wretch in terror. Reaching to the side table for my contacts like I would at home, I realized that they weren't there, and one was in my left eye. "You know you got slapped hard when your contact falls out," I laughed, removing the left one and plopping it on the side table. Rubbing my warm eyes with my calloused hands I saw the team uncomfortably watch me. "Is the applause sign not working, or am I that pathetic?" I chuckled, that sustained some rough laughs from the team.

Morgan handed my glasses to me, and I slipped them on to see a doctor approaching the room. He was similar to Rossi, but he had silvery hair, a shaved face, and a pair of glasses, "Ms. Carter," he greeted.

Glancing briefly at a nametag hanging at his waist, I quickly replied, "Dr. Chesnut, pleasure to meet you."

"She's clairvoyant," Emily picked up on my observation. Spencer shot her a nasty look.

"Ni-i-ce," the doctor stuttered, "Do you remember anything that happened to you?" he questioned, beginning to take my blood pressure. Between all the bruises and sore, not to mention the tendon-something remaining from the cabinet, it was a painful experience.

"I _saw_ it coming," I giggled, watching Prentiss, Morgan, and Rossi chortle. "Do you think all of these dents will void the warranty?" I questioned, putting on my serious face.

Chuckling, the doctor gave me a smirk, "You're in a good mood."

* * *

Sneaking out of the bed, I knew I probably should have called in a nurse, but I could care less. Over the course of the past three days, I had been moved from the ICU to the recovery section of the hospital. Emily and Reid were staying behind to assist me on the flight home. Thankfully, the rest of the team had taken a commercial flight back to Dulles. It wasn't necessary to leave us the jet, but they insisted.

Spencer had been out of his depth the past several days. He was constantly hitting up the bookstore in the lobby, recommending me titles. Every once in a while, we'd play chess, but he always won. When he tried to let me win, I retraced his steps and got pissed off. Emily and I played several rounds one night and I actually won one game fair and square.

The doctor told me to take it easy, and this was easy. Anyone can walk around a freaking room. Staggering to mirror, I began brushing my out of control hair. Snagging the mass of it in a large pony tail on the top of my head, I peered up and saw a figure out of the corner of my eye. Wincing, I positioned myself as far as I could away from the mirror, and grabbed a pair of cosmetic scissors.

It was only Spencer. Laying the silver instrument back on the countertop, I glanced at the clock on the wall. "They let you in this late?" I queried, seeing the misused FBI badge dangling from his waist.

"You do know you're not supposed to be up unassisted?" he rubbed his temple in confusion. I could see the stress radiating off of him. Stumbling towards him rather ungracefully, I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him as close as I could manage—but he never touched my midsection.

Sitting up in the bed, I snuggled under the blanket Emily had brought me from their hotel. "I'm sorry if I've caused you stress," I attempted to say sincerely. Reid curled up in his regular post in the recliner. I knew where he was coming from—my midsection was permanently scarred by burns. Given that I didn't need skin grafts, but I did have some temporary nerve damage. By some unknown grace, I only had deep second degree burns, and a few sparse third degree ones.

"Why aren't you asleep?" he asked, leaning forward to prove his concerned attitude. Retrieving the walker from the other side of the bed, I staggered towards the compact, cushion-less, couch that was neighboring his perch.

"Watch out, I'm going to a bingo game," I murmured under my breath too low for him to pick up on. Draping the blanket over my shoulder, I was questioning why I even using this thing when I could walk perfectly fine. Sitting next to him, I shrugged my shoulders, "They give me my medicine at midnight, so I might as well stay up."

Spencer nodded in understanding instead of absconding my actions. "Sorry if I've been ordering you around lately, I remember that used to get on my nerves when I was in the hospital," he bit his lip, trying not to make eye contact with me.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," I smirked. "Every time we try to talk to each other we are scarred, bruised, or fatally ill," I observed. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards and he stared at me.

"Prentiss and I were caught up in an undercover case gone wrong earlier this year," Reid admitted, "The team wasn't in back up, but they flew out as soon as the media flubbed our cover." He continued to look at me, studying my reactions, I really didn't care that he was profiling me. "She was beaten, but nothing to the severity of your fatality," he looked away at the mention of it. I couldn't say I was offended because I hated looking at myself too. It was enough to have the jagged red scabs from Victor, but to be blessed with a large burned area and more stitches, I was a monster. A complete freak of nature who would have to be covered the rest of my life.

As much as I despised this beginning to take control of my life, it was going too. Nathan won. "I remember learning about that in class," I added to the conversation, trying to divert myself from the reality. Once again, he was trained on my every move, even though I was remaining still and listening.

"Are you even tired?" he inquired, noticing my jittery tapping fingers. One of the perks to being a profiler is that you know the process of profiling.

You can tell when someone is attempting to figure you out. Ultimately, you have the potential to become the world's maximum criminal. "Don't worry about it; the head Psych has cleared me for all the big areas," I reassured him. Rolling my eyes, I could tell what was bouncing around in his head.

Hearing some noise in the corner, I darted my head to distinguish the door cracked open, my medicine. The nurse came in and we had small talk with Reid as she made sure my vitals were stable. She gave me a night time snack, a muffin, and my nightly dose of hospital grade Tylenol. After insisting she must leave, Spencer glared at me. Munching into my muffin, I watched his every move. "I'm not worried that the Psych missed anything," he continued to scrutinize me.

That didn't mean he wasn't worried. He did not need to be worrying over something so stupid. But then again, if I got as bad as I was the last time, I was a liability- to everyone. "What does that mean?" I stated with more edge to my voice than I intended. "Let me guess… You know all my tricks and you're going to be watching me?" I mocked him.

"No, I'm not out to get you," Spencer shook his head to emphasize the point. Packing his things up, I was glad he was leaving. Reid got on my nerves.

* * *

"How'd you tear your stitches?" Emily interrogated me nonchalantly.

Tapping my fingers on the edge of my bed, I debated on whether to tell a lie or not. "Promise you won't tell Reid?" I held out my pinky. She linked with it and I exhaled loudly. "At night, they'll come in and restrain me so I don't move around, and the nurse forgot to do that," I admitted. "And now the Psych department is all in a tizzy and it's all a big mess," I ran my hands anxiously through my forehead.

"Why would the Psych department be angry?" Prentiss questioned. She must not have a biased influence from my past.

Sighing, I went ahead and told her, "Well, I lied to them when I said I didn't have nightmares."

"How'd they even know it was a nightmare? You sleep like a rock," she commented, trying to pry information out of me.

I didn't mind, it was Emily. Spencer had a condescending vibe I always felt when we were talking. He always wanted to exercise his new found seniority. "I was thrashing around screaming, Emily," I confided in her, pushing the vivid memories of the dream away.


	20. Chapter 20

**AN: Alright, I have had a lot happening lately. I was going to the beach, but the weather was being a meanie, so I was stuck at home doing busy/house work. Then I had to read Lord of the Flies for my honors class. But through all of this... I got a new mattress- that sort of smells like fried chicken!**

**Today and this week is going to get rather busy. I'm gone to search for glasses and see my ailing Grandmother today. And 9th/10th grade is looking rather blagh. I have to set up a 504 plan sometime between now and two weeks from now when I go back because of my ADD. Yay. **

**Enough with complaining, thank you once again for reviewing, and as always enjoy the chapter! :)**

* * *

**_"Sometimes people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are."~ Markus Zusak_**

* * *

Resting on the couch, I watched Reid slowly maneuver through the house. When I got home, I took certain precautions to prepping the area, one's that were stupid in hindsight. They made me look crazier than I already was. Spencer came into the living room, and characteristically tripped over the carpet. And no, he couldn't simply trip over the carpet; he had to spill a pitcher of water resting upon the coffee table for my convenience.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, picking himself back up. "I'll go get a towel," he began moving towards the stairs.

Shaking my head, I debated, "No Spencer, I can get it." He wouldn't think highly of the, er, decorating choices I had made if he hadn't noticed already. But he was going to notice. Who was I kidding? Spencer has an eidetic memory for Christ's sake.

"No, I insist," he yelled form the top of the stairs. Positioning myself back down on the sofa, I was waiting to hear his footsteps slow once he picked up on it. They did. Sighing, I grabbed the box of tissues and hid it between my body, and the annoying comfort of the cushions. He slowly descended the stairs, and I wiped the tears that were staining my cheeks. As if he was torturing me, Reid began idly dabbing the sodden carpet. "I'm sorry," he apologized.

Staring at him, daring him to shoot me a look back, I hissed, "You should be."

He did dare to meet my gaze, and he was confused. Spencer understood why I did it. "You're beautiful," he complimented, blushing a bright red. Shaking my head, he saw and sighed. "Why?" he questioned, taking a seat at my feet.

"Why not?" I choked out. "If I see it, I think about it, and he wins," I continued, using supernatural strength to keep my eyes dry.

Spencer was quiet for a while. "He was never winning, and he won't ever be winning," Spencer informed me, "None of this is your fault." Swinging my legs around, I made more room for him on the couch. He wasn't right. There was no way in hell I was uncovering the mirrors, or putting the smaller ones back up on the walls.

"You know, it sucks, but I'll live," I quoted Morgan.

Sighing, Spencer rubbed my knee, sending shivers up my spine. "I'm going to remind you of what I said- every day," he assured me, returning a weak smile to me. No, I would not listen to his lies.

They were offensive. "You won't be able to reproduce by the end of the week."

* * *

Unlike Victor, who would shower her in gifts with money he didn't own, Spencer stayed true to his word. She was off all week due to Hotch's orders, one night he brought over a movie he had handpicked for her. Another evening, he brought a large collection of his books she'd expressed interest in. Personally, her favorite evening was Friday; Reid had supplied her with markers and a slew of coloring books. Florence found some colored pencils and crayon and it was capital times.

And every day he came, he always complimented her. Nothing big—just something different and little each day. Usually, Spencer strayed away from, "Nice figure," and "Nice body." But rather, "I love your hair, I would pet it if you let me," and, "Your toenails have a cool design on them today."

Flo accepted them, but didn't believe a lot of them—the toenails were an exception. Penelope came over one night and did them for her. It meant more to her that he genuinely cared and visited her. Any other person would've sent her flowers and a sympathy card and called it quits.

* * *

Knocks rang out on my door, rushing towards it, I saw Spencer standing outside of it with one of those fake obnoxious sunflowers. "One of these days, you're going to find out I'm not all I'm cracked up to be," I motioned him inside.

"You're one of my favorite people to hang out with," Reid earnestly said. Holding out the flower to her, he commented, "Are you going to make me carry it all day?"

Giggling, I thanked him and twisted the metal part around my wrist like a corsage, "I'm one of your favorite people? Who's first on the list?" I poked, my flower effectively stabbing his cheek.

Blushing, he shoved his hands into his pockets. Relaxing on the couch, he joined me, he need not ask to be seated merely because Spencer spends more time here than at his own home. "I'm going to sound like such a loser, but my Mom is first on that list," he admitted, debriefing in a quiet whisper.

"No, that's sweet," I reassured him. Seeing doubt spill onto his face, I added to my prior statement, "As a profiler, I'd know that you value women."

Once more, his face turned a syrupy red, one of the things that was admirable about him. Blushing is cute. "You feeling alright?" he inquired.

Not wanting to mention the uncomfortable blistering, I opted to complain about something else, "I'm tired, but I'm not in any pain." It was a lie told straight through my front teeth, but he'd believe it. I didn't want these visits to be draining for him and I. "I really like these coloring books, thanks!" I pointed to the almost complete one sitting on the coffee table. Since there wasn't a terrible abundance of things to do around here, I usually worked through that. "You're sure you don't have anything better to do?" I questioned. He probably had dishes piling up and dirty laundry everywhere because he was spending so much time with me.

"I can stay until you kick me out," he smirked, "But that corsage really makes me want to dance with you."

"You've probably never been to a real dance," I noted, Mr. Graduated from High School at twelve probably wasn't allowed. When I thought of dance, I thought of clubs. Clubs made me think of Nathan. Forcing that away, I attempted to keep it together, but it incessantly nagged me.

Spencer shook his head, "You want to?"

"Eh, I have two left feet," I tried to protect my sanity at the moment. All the other times I would've said yes, but now I was afraid of the slightest touch.

"I do too," he grinned, getting up from his perch and standing on his tip toes to pick out a song. "Can I have this dance though?" he begged, turning on the speakers. Some cheesy slow song was picked. Shrugging my shoulders, I insisted that if I didn't do it, _he_ was winning.

Dancing was saccharine, but it only made my unease worse. What if Spencer felt the burn? What if he accidently brushed up against it the wrong way? Dancing, it brought me back to what I was doing before it happened. Spencer was replaced with Nathan. He was winning after all. I would never, ever, win. _Ever_.

By the third song, the gentle swaying had stopped and Spencer had noticed my trembling, and the runaway tears attached to his collar. It was like the iron was tickling my stomach again; I swore I heard the beeping noise it made. Stuff like this _had_ to be pushed away. "I shouldn't have pressured you," he removed his hands from my hands, and turned off the stereo.

"It's not your fault," I commented. A drought hit the water works, thankfully.

"We can color again if you want to," he gestured to the book. Walking around the coffee table, I sat down on the couch and propped my feet up.

Biting my lip, I ignored the bitter thoughts in my mind. It was about time I started to win, "If you don't mind, I'd kind of like to talk about _something_," I hoped he would context clues to find out what I was mentioning. He automatically knew, and came to sit down on the couch.

"First, I want to honestly know why you're even over here doing all these nice things for me," I asked him, "Like, do you want to score or something?" It wouldn't bother me if he said yes, at least I'd know.

Almost immediately after I said that, he spoke up to defend himself, "Flo, I made you a promise." Snagging his bottom lip between his teeth, I remembered it. It wasn't a promise, necessarily, it was a declaration. An assertion of how he was going to remind me I was winning against Nathan and I was beautiful. "In all honesty, I just want to be there for you," he concluded.

Smiling weakly, I sighed, "Why do you have to be so good?" I obnoxiously complained. If he had said he was trying to get laid, I could've thrown him out, severed all ties with him. It was so much easier to get over things when you didn't have someone wanting you to get better. "And another question," I continued, trying to pick up on a subject left in the dust.

"Sure."

"When you were in the hospital, why did you always glare at Anderson?" I wondered aloud.

His face blushed, and he looked utterly confused. "I've already answered that; because I care about you," he babbled. Way to state the obvious.

When I told him that was all, his demeanor showed minor disappointment-Spencer wanted me to talk about it. Too bad. Not much later though, he asked, more specifically how I was really doing. Going into further depth, he pondered aloud why I was crying.

At the very beginning, I attempted to use humor as my defense mechanism. That failed to work. Reid expressed his concerns, and by then, I had enough of keeping it all in. Therefore, I explained it to him. How it felt to be completely powerless. How one person inflicted actions, mutilated my body, and controls almost every aspect of my life. In vulgar details, I tried to get him to comprehend how the torture doesn't end when you're rescued.

I didn't think he understood. But he nodded along and tried to prove me different. Reid was so ignorant, thinking it really wasn't that bad. It was. The whole charred area left my hideous. "You're not damaged," he argued, not raising his voice to prompt an argument. Picking a mirror up that I had taken down, he took the circular object and held so I could only see my face, "You see, that's the most stunning set of eyes on the planet," he sternly told me. Pointing to the two bloodshot baby blues, he continued much to my protest. "That smile," he directed to my lips in the mirror, "Is the sexiest, most alluring, thing a man will ever see."

"Spencer," I frowned. Would he like a can of corny with his cheesiness?

His face knotted up and he demanded, "Let me finish." His finger stabbed my neck in the reflection, "What comes out of that mouth is thought provoking, hilarious, and a tad bit guarded, but that's simply how this goddess learned to function."

"Stop."

"Her hair, it's not funky and extreme like other women's, it's supernaturally radiant and becoming," he couldn't stop himself. It was beginning to become obsessive and unrealistic how he was describing me. After he wrapped up, I stared at him teary eyed, "You keep depicting this terrible monster, but that's what I see," he informed me, replacing the mirror where I had it.

"I do believe that is the most extensive compliment I have ever received," I sighed, trying to process everything he had said about my entire body. He appeared too embarrassed to slightly move.

* * *

**Awww ;] now it's officially romantic and rather cliched. REVIEW! **


	21. Chapter 21

**AN: timeladyanatonks- Lord of the Flies isn't a "great book," but it's something that I'm afraid I'll never forget. I didn't even know there was a movie :P. thanks for reviewing! :)**

**Warning, it does get sappy... But it's nothing too bad.**

**And if you're not familiar with the chronology of the series, we're now at 5x01. **

**Reviews are appreciated :) Enjoy the chapter! **

* * *

**_"Those who are faithful know only the trivial side of love; it is the faithless who know love's tragedies." ~ Oscar Wilde_**

* * *

There were so many variables against me, but I was still winning. Nathan wasn't the worst thing that had ever happened to me because now I can cope.

Changing the dressings on my wound, it was healing. Slowly, the burn was healing, one day all of it would vanish into a splotch of pink. Instead of taking it one day at a time, I was living for that one day.

My phone buzzed on my side table, and Garcia's picture illuminated on the cell phone screen. "Hello?" I answered, trying to decide whether picking up the phone was a good thing or a bad thing.

"What are you doing Sunshine?" she interrogated, sounding out of character. Her voice was tinted with remorse, something that didn't happen often, something was wrong.

Cutting to the chase, I bluntly questioned, "What's wrong?"

After Garcia's fountain of information, I told her I'd be in Quantico within the hour. It was illegal to drive that fast, not only illegal-but borderline unholy-quite frankly though, I needed to be there. Running around the house, my tendons aching, I found my gun and my creds.

Quickly stripping down and changing into more comfortable clothes, I grabbed my bag and fled to my car. As promised, I was jogging into Penelope's office by the hour. "Sweet Jesus, Flo!" she scolded, noticed my exhaustion. My chest rose and fall as I panted, trying to catch my breath, my tendons set ablaze all down my back.

Catching my breath, I gazed at all the screens, "I read your emails on the way down, and I must say I am so lucky to be alive."

"Florence Adrian!" she reprimanded me.

* * *

Reid was lying somewhat elevated in his hospital bed. He wasn't sitting up enough to read, but he was up to a comfortable, reclining, position. "We've got to stop meeting like this," I commented as I strode inside his room. In order to be closer to him, I relocated a chair, placing it right next to the edge of the bed.

"Garcia told me about your reckless driving," he extended his hand to delicately tuck hair behind my ear. IVs ran on the back of his palm, but that didn't stop him from showing affection. Lovingly he cupped one side of my face, gently rubbing his thumb over my cheek; his face was plastered with pain. "I was disappointed, but then I realized I'd be able to see you again," he sweetly smiled.

"Spencer," I removed his hand slowly from my face. He caught notice of my eyes, and looked relieved himself. "Please, you don't have to do that right now," I blushed. Any other time, he would've exploded, and we would be at it like cats and dogs. But, his pain was in fact that dreadful. Reid knew I wasn't being fresh and only courteous. "You look absolutely pitiful," I ran my fingers through his knotted locks.

His knee wasn't cast and only a flimsy bandage wrapped around the joint. Retrieving the comb from the counter, I began working through the intricately matted curls. "Pain's only a theory," he commented, obviously fighting the urge to swat my hand away. Instead, he let me comb through his hair, knowing it was the only way I could show fondness at this point.

Working out a rather fickle knot, with much cringing on Spencer's side, I perplexed, "That doesn't mean it doesn't exist." Spencer gave me a look to communicate bitterly sarcastic, 'Thanks.'

Finally as I was about to get the tricky tangle out, Spencer snapped, "Don't pull on it too hard!" Ignoring him, I yanked the final snarl out, "Flo, I don't want to be bald!" he exclaimed. Snickering, I ran the comb through his scalp again.

"I'm all done now," I iterated, sounding too motherly for my comforts. A nurse came in and began running through Reid's vitals, making chit chat with both of us, then a doctor entered.

He looked very experienced, seeing his name tag; I identified him as head surgeon. He began explaining what was wrong with Spencer's knee, how the bullet shattered parts of his kneecap. Then, the medicine doctor began telling Reid about the tests he had to do very quickly. "Does this hurt Dr. Reid?" he questioned, trying to get Spencer's leg to lift straight into the air.

As soon as the doctor's grip went around Spencer's thin calf, he latched onto my hand. Squeezing it, he bellowed in pain, "Of course it does!" he smartly answered the doctor, who then laid his knee back down gently. Spencer was biting his tongue in order too- at least from my preception- rudely scream choice words at the doctor. The doctor apologized and excused himself as a nurse began fetching ice and apologizing_ excessively_. Tears rolled down his cheeks. Between the face and the sound that emitted from his throat, it was sickening to me to witness that sort of pain, "It hurts so much," he admitted with a slight quaver to his words.

Taking a few deep breaths, he moved his face over to the other side of the pillow. "I believe you," my voice cracked. Repositioning his head so his eyes focused on the ceiling, a thin glossy layer of sweat beaded his forehead, his clammy palm still laced around mine.

"Stupid ibuprofen isn't working," he complained. Snatching a few tissues, I began dabbing the sweat from his forehead. "He already knows I broke it, so why do it again?" Reid whined, loosening the grip on my hand as soon as he noticed how tight it was. "Sorry," he shook his head.

"Don't be," I tucked hair behind his ear similar to what he did when I first came in.

Spencer nestled his head to the side, closing his eyes, but I could tell he wasn't in the right frame of mind to sleep. "Your shoulder doing okay?" he questioned.

Shaking my head, I stifled a few laughs; he was really concerned about me? "It's fine, but please worry about you," I insisted.

"Well, I can do that in my thoughts," Spencer remarked, staring at me with glistened eyes. It put me in his position simply by watching him writhe in pain. This was emotional torture.

* * *

Being buzzed into Reid's apartment, I opened the door to find him sprawled out in the recliner, his long legs dangling off of the end of the furniture. "What a pleasant surprise," Reid explained rather sarcastically. Rolling my eyes, I sat the box of cupcakes on the kitchen island. Returning back into the living room, his arms extended as if asking for a hug.

Accepting his hug, it was much like the one he gave me when he was plagued with anthrax—tight, passionate, and loving. Reid pressed his head into the crook of my neck and planted featherweight invisible kisses on it. Sighing in content, I wondered when he was going to let go but I wasn't necessarily anticipating it. For a split second I pondered what we were. Were we significant others? Was I simply his mistress? Was he my rebound?

I hoped that he wasn't my rebound, which would be completely inexcusable, the premier form of treachery. "I have a fondness for you Flo," he whispered into my ear sending goose bumps down my shaking arms. "Do I make you nervous?" he retracted and threw in a couple of dry laughs.

"Very nervous," I admitted, sitting down on the leather couch positioned near to his chair. He blushed at my confession. Much to my insistence, he removed himself from his post on the recliner to come and sit beside me on the couch.

Tapping my fingers awkwardly on my knee, I was stopped when Spencer began to kiss me- Straight up on the lips. My first instinct was to laugh, but then I deemed that impeccably rude. It positively surprised me how intense he was making this. "Jesus Spencer," I muttered with a quick giggle before he pulled away.

* * *

Never will I ever become accustomed to waking up in his bed.

_Ever._

It happened again, sober this time, whether that be less moral or not... I'm not the judge. Sitting up slowly, the fabric of the shirt I refused to take off pulled at me; thankfully Spencer didn't rouse at my alertness. I had to think about this all. Spencer and I couldn't be sleeping around all the time. Not only were our jobs at stake, our reputations, and his knee- there were so many factors that could be shattered by this whole affair.

Not to mention it was a dead end unless one of us decided against the BAU. I don't want to leave the Bureau and I don't want to rob Spencer of the job he loves. But then again, I don't want to risk this. We have chemistry—poorly planned chemistry—but it's something nonetheless.

There were too many morals, too many risks and apprehensions, and too many negatives that outweighed the _severely_ rewarding positives. It's just my luck.

Watching him peacefully sleep beside me, I couldn't take it. Silently rising from the bed I journeyed to the bathroom to take a much needed shower. Delicately, the water cleansed my thoughts, the serenity actually allowed me to think about it. Spencer was in the living room, in his chair, "We never wake up together," he observed. To avoid answering that question, I retrieved my phone from my bag lying on the table.

Twenty Three missed calls.


	22. Chapter 22

AN: Welcome back! Here's the next installment. Thanks for reviewing, favoriting, and following :).

* * *

_**"The only thing left to fear, is fear itself." ~Franklin Delano Roosevelt**_

* * *

Waving goodbye to Spencer in a hurry, I left his house Quantico bound. Instead of meandering dangerously through traffic, I took my time, after all it was my leave. Arriving at the bureau, the whole team took a sigh of relief. "Jesus Florence," Garcia huffed under her breath.

"Why so many calls?" I questioned, "It is my recoup time you know," I jokingly complained. Noticing Hotchner in the bullpen with his arms crossed, I knew I was either in serious trouble, or something had drastically gone wrong.

"Alexander Gates has escaped from death row," Agent Rossi informed me.

Like in the hospital, I facilitated humor as a defensive mechanism, "Good for him."

Hotch explained to me that there was WITSEC members ready to assist me to a new location, that the DC police were facilitating the old profile. Shaking my head, I argued, "No, you're not going by the profile," I rubbed my temple in animate confusion. Sorting through what I knew about my case and what they had told me, I already knew my plan of action.

Aaron was becoming quite irate along with a more vocal Penelope. "Are you crazy?" She uttered. Raising her eyebrows to a peak on her forehead, I heard the cracks in her voice.

"No, look at it in this perspective," I began picking aimlessly at my nails. "He's going to want me to know he's coming to instill fear," I explained. Wonderstruck faces still peered at me. They weren't catching my point. "If I stay in D.C., he'll begin to think that I don't feel that fear and he'll mess up along the way," I continued. David nodded his head in agreement to what I was saying. It was good at least one of them saw the nonsense in me leaving. "And if we're working the case- he'll take that as a cry of anger- that'll just give him more patience," I concluded.

"If she stays in D.C. then he won't be running around the country trying to find her," Derek shrugged, remaining neutral.

My Unit Chief still looked wary. "Gates is very unpredictable, resourceful, and clever, he's not going to make the same mistake twice," Hotch gave me the evil eye. It was more dangerous this time around and I was considering everything…

Everything except being assigned a Marshall. There are other people out there who are in need of a WITSEC team, and then there's me, I'm completely capable of holding my own. "I'm not leaving," I crossed my arms.

* * *

The rest of my recuperation time was spent in my living room, occasionally calling Reid and Garcia, insisting that they not come over. Gates was probably watching me as we spoke on the phone. That sick feeling never totally left. There were always those eyes on me, everywhere I moved.

Being back at work was a godsend. Bobby trapping my door was probably the most fun part of the whole ordeal. Under the mat on the inside, was a tube of acrylic paint that wouldn't be missed by a person in a hurry.

It was a foolish security, nonetheless.

* * *

At night, in the hotel, I opened up my phone to see what it had bestowed upon me. What did I expect? An illuminated screen flashing every other second signifying an outrageous amount of missed calls. Groaning, I flopped down on the bed and let out a large sigh. Sooner or later, I'd have to face that unpleasant conversation. As usual- Later was much easier.

Highlighting the dreaded number, I maneuvered over the quilt on the bed to comfortably lay on my stomach. The phone didn't have any missed calls or texts, even an email. He was angry. What did I expect? Spencer to welcome me back with arms wide open after I lied to him for a week or so? It technically wasn't a lie because he never asked for the truth. Reid didn't need to be mad at me for something I couldn't control.

It was quite childish actually. What did he think he was going to do? There's no way in hell I'm going to go under a Marshall, a Soldier, even the President of the United States. This is my battle, and Reid, or anyone else for that matter, has no business playing hero.

Would I kill Gates? Staring at my gun on the side table, I tried to envision myself in the situation. A psychotic glee lit up on my face. Eerily, I caught glimpse of myself in the mirror, refocusing myself on the task at hand, I glared down at the phone. Deciding to simply press the send button, I got the voicemail.

"Hey, it's me… If you want to talk," I nervously spat into the phone before repeatedly pressing the end button.

Seemingly, it worked, and my heart leapt as his picture popped up on my small screen. Answering it quickly, I heard Spencer's voice choking down a few words, "I don't want to talk to you."

With that the line went dead along with so many other hopes. Tears feel down my cheeks as I discarded the phone into the side table. Wiping them away, I decided it wouldn't be the time to cry about something, especially something I have so little control over. The fact that he had the spite to do that was quite hurtful and immature.

Now I know why fraternization is a liability and is ever-so-unprofessional.

* * *

Returning back to Spencer and Penelope in Quantico, I couldn't stand to look at him, and he didn't look like he had the tastes to glance at me either. We silently worked on casework at our desks. The barrier didn't just consist of a plastic wall; there was an emotional barricade full of hurt and mistrust. It silenced me because I knew I had incited it indirectly.

Giving into my guilt, I tapped lightly on the separation, "Reid?"

He held up one finger and began dialing a number into the black box on his desk. Sighing in defeat, I watched him with a hawk's eye, and as soon as the phone hit the cradle he busied himself with something else on purpose. Kneading my temples, I was extremely frustrated with him. "Reid?" I tapped on the partition once more.

"Yes?" he turned around to write something down on a notepad.

"You hate me, don't you?" I inquired, trying to make some form of eye contact with him.

"That would make things so much simpler," he admitted, frowning at the papers before him.

"You still have a twelve o' clock lunch?" I questioned, trying to hide the rather large lump in my throat. He nodded but didn't look thrilled at the pending invitation. "I'll buy," I shrugged, having the sandwich shop in mind. It was only common courtesy to buy him lunch since I offered the date.

He nodded his head again, trying not to say anything probably due to the frog in his throat.

We drove separately to the site, either to avoid suspicion from our colleagues, or to hide the emotions. Either way, this was going to be rather hard. He grabbed the door for me, and I took this as an advantage to rush ahead to the cashier and claim I was paying. Spencer didn't seem to be annoyed with this like he normally would be. We ordered, and now we sat awkwardly in a booth secluded form the rest of the rather quaint restaurant.

He characteristically tapped his fingers nervously on the glazed white table top. I stared down at my shoes in shame as his observant eyes darted here and there. There was so many things wrong with this, so many things wrong with our relation. "Spencer?" I questioned softly. Raising his eyebrows to show his alertness, I continued with my anxiety ridden interrogation, "I know why you're mad at me, but, like, I don't know…" I gave up and ran my hand through my hair.

"You know… But you don't?" he suspended one eyebrow perfectly in perplexity. The tone he spat it out at me was rather aggravating.

My eyes stung with salt water, "I just don't know what part," I ceased toying with a potato chip.

"I'm angrier at myself than I am at you," he admitted, sipping on water.

"Please explain it to me Spencer, everything doesn't make sense anymore," I rubbed my temple, not even making an attempt to think in any form of clarity.

Concerned, he uncrossed his arms and leaned forward. "I'm mad at myself for not wanting you to go into protective custody," he admitted in a hushed tone. "I'm really enraged that I'm that selfish," he threw in a nervous smile.

Smirking, I was joyous it was that resolvable, "Well, it's a good thing for you that I'm staying right here."

* * *

Inside the batcave with Garcia, my phone rang in my pocket. Putting down the pen, I answered the unknown caller, "Florence Carter."

"No SSA Florence Carter?" the voice harrowingly pondered. Picking the feathery pen back up, I jotted down 'track this.'

Shaking my head, I crossed my arms around my chest, "Seriously, this isn't funny anymore kids," I groaned. That would set off his ego by a half ton.

"What?"

"Stop prank calling me!" I watched Penelope slip in earphones and beginning to type away at her monitors. "Seriously, don't you have a girlfriend or something?"

His breathing picked up again. "Your carelessness will kill you one day Florence," and with that the line fizzled.

Garcia sighed, "It was a disposable phone."

"Damn it!" I cursed under my breath.

Reid's eyes glued to the screen across from Garcia, "The signal is bouncing from Richmond to Hampton Roads," he observed.

"Reid, you can't track disposable phones," Penelope looked over to the genius staring at the screen.

"He was stupid enough to call using 3G internet," he swiveled the screen around and locked eyes with me.

"I'm not getting involved with this," I motioned my hands up in defeat.

"Did you not just hear he wants to kill you?!" Garcia exclaimed wide eyed.

"Let him come after me," I shrugged, saying it as if it would be fun.

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you!" she raised her voice. Spencer shared the same worried look.

Penelope latched onto my arm as if that would talk sense into me. "If he comes after me, then you will know where he is at," I tried to paint the picture for them.

"That doesn't mean he doesn't kill you," Garcia shook her head in confusion.

Spencer looked like he was about to say something, but I interrupted his input, "I can keep him off long enough."

"Flo, no offense, but you don't have a great track record with that," she pleaded with me, trying to talk sense into what I was thinking. It didn't make any sense, so I didn't need it any more.

"I really don't want to prove myself to you," I smiled wickedly.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: WARNING, SUPER FLUFF. It was hard for me to write this because when I think of real relationship I do not picture this... Spencer may get a little OOC, but I tried to keep it minimal and let few parts of his true self shine through. As always, thank you for reviewing and favoriting. Sorry about the wait, my profile has the details on my absence. The only reason I can update today is because I've been sick all week and return to school tomorrow. Anyways, I'm trying to get caught up and updating much more frequently after Labor Day Weekend. And as always... Enjoy the chapter :).**

**And also...**

** I introduce to you... **

**Hickey tag.**

* * *

**_"I believe that I love you more than yesterday, But that belief grows every single day. I look forward for a new day of loving you."~Anonymous._**

* * *

That night, I spent it alone in my house. Thoughts came to mind about ringing up Harrison if Victor was doing all right. The answer would be no but at least I still called about him. Even though Victor had done wrong by me, it still wasn't right to hold that against him. Anyways, there had been people who had done worse…

Shaking those thoughts from my head, I knew that if I needed to go somewhere, I could. All these years I hadn't hurt myself weren't going to waste tonight after an emotionally tormenting day. Besides, there was so much to do in so little time, I knew how many days I had left here and I need to use them wisely. He could always be behind me—ready to kill at any given moment.

My phone buzzed, it was Reid's picture that adorned the screen. Sighing, either with relief or annoyance, I picked up the call, "Reid?"

"Flo, you doing okay?" he asked nervously, trying to decipher the tones in my voice. He would not prevail at profiling me.

Shaking her head in person, in voice she fibbed, "Yeah, just decompressing, what about you?"

He was going to lie as well. "Fine," he mused, the clicks of crutches echoing on the line. Unsure of what to say next, I began to peck away at my laptop more so, looking at different properties and such. A long silence passed us on the phone before Spencer was coaxed into saying something, "Mind getting the door for me?" A crutch hit the bottom of the wooden feature just feet away from me. I hung up and groaned quietly to myself while I closed the windows on the computer and got up to let Spencer in.

"You look rough," Spencer bluntly stated as he hobbled through the doorway.

"The compliment everyone's dying to hear," I muttered, now knowing I was annoyed with Spencer.

He weakly smiled as his shaded and lanky figure rested on her couch. His shades came off to reveal bags under his eyes. "Sorry, you just looked really… Forlorn… How are you doing?"

I laughed, sitting down next to him, "Do you find the right word for everything?"

"Do you think a question answers a question?" Spencer growled playfully.

Rolling my eyes, I had a witty comeback that he'd take a liking to, "Don't all questions deserve an answer?"

"Exactly, not a question," Spencer proved his point. Snapping my fingers, I realized that I shouldn't try to outsmart him again. Sighing, I placed the sunglasses on his head onto the safer location of the table. His head rested on my shoulder even though I could tell he was fighting it.

"I'm completely fine, you on the other hand…" I stated, obviously concerned with his well being. Spencer groaned, extending his legs out wards. "Well lay down silly," I laughed, getting up and taking off his shoes to reveal a purple and grey argyle print sock and a vertical striped yellow and red sock. Assisting in helping him to the other side of the sofa so he could lay more comfortably Spencer's legs were still too long and had to hang off a little bit. As I went to sit in the other seat after I completed the task of propping Spencer's feet up, he whimpered loudly and clutched my hand as I passed, "You are one odd little man," I giggled.

Spencer's eyes pleaded with me, "Please can I rest my head in your lap?" They glistened and with a temptation like that I couldn't say no. Nodding my head and biting the insides of my cheek to keep from busting out laughing at his pathetic nature I reached over to turn down the blinds down and pull the thick brown curtains together. Retrieving remotes and my glass of water, I got Spencer to sit up momentarily and moved the pillows out from under him. Then, I sat down where his had was supposed to be, and he plopped right down with no warning what so ever and sighed in relief as I put a pillow below his head. "I just wanted to look at you," he smirked.

"Aw, Spencer," I chuckled uncontrollably, "I think you've had a rough week." He smiled weakly and began to become paler and paler to my eyes. Feeling his forehead, it was slightly sweaty and warmer than it should've been, "You been feeling alright Spencer?"

"Just tired and achy," he whined, turning his head back over to the TV. He was obviously a 'mama's boy,' but that wasn't necessarily a negative trait.

"Since when?" I questioned, noticing his steady breathing. He didn't turn around again and I frowned. Grabbing a blanket off of the back of the both of us, I removed the two large cushions from the sofa attached by Velcro, proceeding to discard them on the floor. Moving Spencer's head from my lap, I silently cheered at my success of not rousing him.

Finally, I placed a pillow under my head and flung the thick blanket over us. Finding a pillow to rest on, fatigue washed over me, the last things I remember being placing my arm over Spencer's torso to hug him closer to me.

* * *

What was that? I moaned and felt a chill on my arm. Snapping my eyes open in worry, it was pitch black in the living room, and my arm was painfully numb. Trying to gain control of it again, I realized it was in someone's clutches. Spencer, I drowsily concluded. Turning my face over to my right, my theory was correct. Elbowing him with the same arm he was ferociously gnawing on he yelped, "Ouch!" with a series of coughs. Thank God it's Saturday.

"Spencer!" I scolded. He slowly positioned himself in a half sitting position and realized what he was doing in his sleep. Beginning to laugh uncontrollably, with spell of coughing and wheezing, he dropped my arm and attempted to gain composure. Only attempted to regain it wasn't enough for me, I pulled the pillow out from under me and bonked him in the face a good time.

"Hey!" he slowly configured. My arm was full of his teeth marks and sick person slobber. Some parts I was convinced were bleeding.

"What's so freaking funny?" I asked, edge evident in my tiresome tone.

Spencer giggled once before I raised my hand up again, pillow in clutches, "Okay, Okay," he surrendered, "I was dreaming of having corn on the cob."

Sighing, I refrained from giving into the hilarity, "Seriously?"

Spencer nodded his head and bust out into laughter as I cuddled up beside him. This time I was sure I didn't put my arm over him. "I can give you some hickeys on your neck to match…" Spencer laughed as he pivoted on his good knee to dive into my neck.

"No!" I squealed, placing my arms against his chest that was intruding on my personal space.

Nevertheless, my arms weren't extended enough and I wasn't at a vantage point, he pushed hair behind my ear and instead of sinking his teeth into my neck like expected, he whispered into my ear, "Hickeys are actually just hematoma, a bruise, caused by breaking the capillaries with intense suction," Spencer informed. After my fits of laughter, I wondered how he had sprung back so quickly from the grogginess of before, "Usually, after the age of seventeen about 1 in 10 people think it is immature to give and receive hickeys." Spencer grinned as I turned my face around so I could look him straight in the eyes, "But when asked… Ab-about a love bite, a-a-anoth-e-er slang term for hickey, about 6 in 10 t-th-think it's perfectly acceptable," Spencer stammered as he rolled back over to his side of the couch, which was essentially the whole couch.

Having a rather sinful idea, I leaned over like I was going to put my arm over him again, and I dove straight for his neck. Spencer cringed, repeating over and over again, "You are so childish."After I was satisfied with bruising his neck in a moral way, I gave him a wide smile. He touched the spot on his neck and frowned, "How the hell am I supposed to cover this up?" he asked.

"I can help you out with that, just worry about it later," I casually threw out there, turning over on my side. As soon as I felt Spencer's body weight shift, I knew I was in trouble. This was turning into straight up war between me and him. Squirming and shrieking at the stupidity of it all, when his head lifted up, he kissed my cheek and turned back over. On my collarbone was a perfectly shaped oval. "Alright Reid," I huffed in a serious tone, "It's on now."

"Really Flo?" he taunted, as if I wouldn't do it.

"Oh, not right now, but later, it will come when you aren't expecting it," I warned him, laughing at the whole cheesiness of the game. We were like those couples in the terrible sitcoms—only amplified a thousand times worse. He flipped over completely on the bed, crashing down into me with his bad knee. "Jesus Spencer!" I scolded. Spencer emitted a low groan and I tried to pull him up. This was the stupidest idea ever. As soon as I had lifted him up so he could see me, a grin plastered his face a mile wide, and I uttered a few choice words towards him as his head dipped into my neck.

* * *

When the light poured in from the cracks in the window, I saw Spencer propped up and relaxing in the brown chair with a blank look on his face as he watched the news aimlessly. Throwing the covers off of me and retreating the kitchen to bring him and I back a bagel he began to smile deviously at the sight of me. Spencer looked like a purple spotted monster and the memories of last night came back to me. Picking up my right arm to look at it, teeth marks ran down it like seams, and purple bruises were prominent against the skin. From the red couch, I eyed him down. Retreating upstairs where the sole mirror I could easily look into was, I gaped at the atrocity of my skin.

They were everywhere. Starting from the top of my neck to my collarbone there was only splotches of white to be seen. It wasn't fair, Spencer had on a T-shirt and khaki pants, and I had on only shorts and a tank top. He'd pay. He wouldn't win this game.

Reluctantly tugging myself back downstairs, I finished the rest of my breakfast before Spencer, despite me having to leave for five minutes. His smug smile was frustrating me to no end. When he was done, I yanked the plate off of the side table and went to the kitchen to deposit it into the sink. When I returned, Spencer smirked, "Usually, after you know hematoma will inevitably occur, it can be prevented up to 80% by deep massage with ice."

"Oh, _deep massage_ is what they're calling it nowadays," I glowered at him from my perch on the edge of the couch.

"Alright, no more hickey tag," Spencer frowned.

Frowning, I continued to be difficult with the plans of deceit formulating in my brain, "I want a sincere hug because work on Monday is going to be hell, don't even think of pulling any funny shit," I sniffled as I advanced toward him. He stuck his arms out and embraced me tightly as an idea flourished devilishly in my head.

"I'm sorry Flo," he sighed. As soon as my lips were on his neck he groaned, "That's really low you know?"

* * *

**Reviewing makes you high... Legally. **


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay! But I bare excellent news. I sat down and typed this sucker all up and I have uploaded every chapter in the doc manager. There's a sequel, a short sequel, in the works. So I was thinking... How should I go about uploading? Should I conduct an extreme upload-a-thon and drop all seven chapters on you in one day (probably this Sunday...) Or should I have a week long upload fest! Comment and let me know :).

On another note... Season eight anyone? (Spoilers if you haven't watched "The Silencer" yet) Alex and Strauss seem to have a promising cat-fight coming. I don't really like Alex, mainly because she's another cold and distant Emily type, but I don't necessarily dislike her. I really liked that they didn't make Penelope all lovey dovey towards her at the beginning.

Also, they're bringing back the Criminal Minds spin-off, or at least that's what I saw on the IMBd and calling it Minds.0. When I read that I think of Daniel Tosh as a psychiatrist :P. "How does that internet clip make you feel?"

Anyways, let me know what you think. Thank you for reading, and enjoy!

* * *

_**"You will find that it is necessary to let things go; simply for the reason that they are heavy." ~C. JoyBell C.**_

* * *

As the main game of hickey tag concluded, Spencer had gotten me a few times much to my dismay. Covering these suckers was going to be quite the task for the both of us since we were both legitimately covered in the purple ovals. Reid now still sat up in the brown chair, having changed into the pajamas he kept in a drawer here, covered in the thick brown blanket sound asleep. I was catching up in the pharmaceutical book he gifted me and learning quite a bit on the sunny Saturday afternoon.

Amazingly, his sickness went away, but it shouldn't have surprised me when he still asked me to do things for him in a hushed embarrassing nature. I could tell when Spencer wanted something but was too afraid to ask, he'd get to squirming in the chair, trying to find a comfortable position to go through the textbooks he had brought over the other night. It was cute, though it could get to be positively exasperating when he fibbed and said that nothing was wrong with him.

Eventually, as we neared two o'clock in the afternoon, he closed the textbook in front of him and dozed off into immediate slumber. Not being able to focus on the textbook any longer, I observed him silently for a few minutes. His chest rose and fell with a calm connotation. Spencer's lips were pursed into a fine line, maybe from concentration or anger; I didn't have mind reading abilities. The eyes, they were shut like he was purposely trying to keep himself from seeing something. Rigidly, or as rigid as the boney appendages could be, his arms wrapped around his torso not so much to believe he was hugging himself, but as if he was trying to viciously squeeze himself to smothering.

Snapping out of my trance, I sat the text book on the table and went into the kitchen and prepared a small bag of ice surrounded by a terry towel. Returning into the living room, I stealthily slipped the pack under the blanket onto his knee of his sweatpants. His leg stiffened. That wasn't supposed to happen. Pulling the blanket back again, I knew I was risking Spencer's peace, he could have peace some other time. So with that thought, I began to roll up the leg of his cobalt sweats. Taking a deep breath to signify his discontent, Reid didn't open his eyes just yet, probably wishing to save the moments of sleep he was reluctantly deprived of.

"Flo," he grumbled, fumbling around in the chair to position himself to a ninety degree angle.

"Spencer," I returned smartly.

He hung his neck back as he tossed the blanket fully off of his haphazardly. "Did I ever consent to this?" he questioned, trying to remove my hands from the afflicted area. By now, I had pushed the pants as far as they would go, and that was enough to see the purple area.

Shaking my head, a tad taken back from his statement, I declared, "Well, I first got you this ice pack, and then I knew something was wrong when you flinched away from it."

"It's not your job to take care of me," Reid muttered, eyes not fully open yet. "But thanks anyways," he added, at least he wasn't completely rude.

"You misguided genius," I scolded playfully, "Thinking that you actually have a say." Patting his head, I repositioned the ice pack on his knee and he sighed as he got a glance of the purple ligaments that matched his neck.

Reid bit his lip as I took a spot near him on the red couch. "You know, I wrote about your case once," he admitted.

"Really?" I raised my eyebrow, wondering why he would say that at this moment.

"Yeah, couldn't use your name, but you were stuck in my head for quite some time," Reid smiled weakly as he finally opened his eyes. "You can look it up online I'm sure, it's the first result if you Google my name." With that, he closed his eyes and dozed back into sleep.

* * *

Eventually, Reid roused up and sat himself at the dining table, studying me as I cooked dinner for him and I. His eyes would occasionally revert themselves to the china cabinet—the glass in the front display still remaining in a shattered state. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, go ahead," I replied as he stared at the fragments still hanging onto the wooden frame.

Spencer sighed, locking eyes with me, "How come you can look at that," he gestured to the china cabinet, "But can't look in mirrors?"

My encouraging smile dropped into a frown. A part of me though Spencer knew the answer already, he was simply asking for my response to get a snapshot of my mental state. All of these tricks I hated. "Well, think of it like this, the china cabinet didn't hurt me, Victor did when he…" I tried to say something else besides what really happened because I still didn't like saying it, "Did what he did."

"So if you're still sticking to that theory, shouldn't you not be afraid of mirrors because they didn't hurt you, Nathan did?" Spencer raised his eyebrows.

My abdomen seemed to tickle upon being mentioned. Spencer had tried to beat into my head that it didn't matter, but it did, it would always matter. "Spencer, I don't want to talk about this right now," I warned him. That shut him up pretty quickly.

But it didn't shut him up completely. During the sit down portion of dinner, my head remained trained on the plate and he was observing me like an unsub again, "Have you even looked at it in the mirror? You know?"

"Spencer…" I hissed again.

He exhaled, but not in a rude manner that prompted he was growing tired of my song and dance, "I want to be sure you're okay."

"I'm fine, I've had enough time," I gritted my teeth.

"Fine isn't an emotion."

"Is aggravated an emotion?" I snapped at him, getting up from my seat and disposing of my plate. He was going to try to say something, but I was beyond pissed off, "If it is so enticing for you to see my charred stomach…"

Spencer got his crutches from beside him and took his plates to the kitchen, "I'm sorry Florence," he made a point in not raising a tone with me. Even though prompt an argument, he might as well have. My body shook with anger as I leaned against the frame of the arch into the kitchen. As he was about to exit the room, I stormed into the living room like he wasn't going to be there for some odd reason. When he came in and sat down next to me and pulled me into a hug, I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was nonetheless.

Placing my hands on his chest before pushing him, I developed a surly low voice, "Reid." He refused to stop, and I gave him one hard shove that didn't set him back, but got his hands off of me. Rolling up the bottom of my tank top I stared him in the eyes, "Look, look at it," I demanded him as he tried to focus on my face instead of the monstrosity of skin on my now bare midriff.

"It's hideous, absolutely disgusting," I recited upon memory. There was still some parts trying to heal, and the rest of it was all one huge layered scar burning bright red. His eyes trailed down and observed it like I told him too. Nothing was said; wind tickled my skin and shame filled my racing thoughts. "Why would anyone ever want to look at it?" I interrogated him.

He picked his face up and gazed at me straight in the eye, "You're not hideous," his voice was thick as it was when he was recording a message for his mother in case he didn't make it through the anthrax. "Just like I told you that day, you're the most stunning person I've encountered," he referred to the night he forcibly took a mirror and riddled off why I was beautiful, not just focusing on physical traits, but personality as well. His eyes burned visibly as tears filled them to the brink, and finally, he let himself cry. It was a terrifying experience for me as the first tear made it down his face. "Please understand that," he finished.

Sitting in shock from the emotion he showed, it took me a while to wrap him in a delicate hug. What'd I do to deserve this? "I'll try," I answered, beginning to sob myself.

* * *

_One of the survivors of the vicious, inhumane, altercation still puzzles me today. She seemed to be born with trouble always closely following, her life riddled with various addictions, toxic relationships, disorders experienced and healed by some botched life lessons she formulated- being only seventeen probably didn't help her much. When the police found her, knowing she was one of the kidnapped women, she was under the influence of a psychoactive drug later to be discovered as marijuana. _

_No matter how extensive the interrogation, the threatening personas, or the caring ones, she wouldn't break down to divulge any information that could possibly help others like herself. She'd sit there, staring blankly across the table into the mirror as if there was no reason to be there, or anywhere. After all the members on the team and almost every specialist the headquarters could obtain had their rounds with her—and then some—I was sent into the room. _

_She peered over to me, hand on her stomach. I had a sandwich in my hand, she was eyeing it, so I put it on the table nonchalantly and nudged it closer to her. Apparently, as I was going to soon figure out, no one had given her anything while she was experiencing the hunger as a side effect of the drugs. That one thing, a sandwich, helped us locate the bodies of three other women, and one who was alive. _

_As our interview concluded though, one could see that even though this survivor had been victimized and forced to go through something so merciless, she had that life in front of her as well. Her antagonism had been pent up for so long and she wanted to fight back against others who had harmed people in the same manner she was harmed. Right there it struck me that both futures were available to this girl and both had their consequences, and there was no distinction to what path she preferred._

After reading the article, it was amazing how Reid had picked up on that much of me in the short period of time. He had left earlier after our crying fest, and I had put up all the mirrors around the house again, reluctantly. If it made him feel better or if it made me feel better, than it couldn't hurt, only help.

The time alone was nice, but it was as if he had never left because my thoughts always darted back to him. As I lay on the couch, I pondered what he was doing, what he would have for dinner tonight, little things that were hard to do on crutches. Would he take his medicine tonight? Would he sit up worrying about me tonight? It was at least half past midnight. Four hours have never stretched this long in my humble existence.

He was probably at home getting some sort of rest. After Friday/Saturday's events of war natured hickeys—which felt so long ago—he probably needed some shut eye.

But I still thought about him.


	25. Chapter 25

A/N:

* * *

_**"I am the combined effort of everybody I've ever known." ~Chuck Palahniuk**_

* * *

JJ marched into the bullpen on Monday morning, slapping case files on each of our desks. Spencer hadn't arrived yet, which was odd. Hopefully he knew what to do with his neck; mine was artfully caked in tattoo concealer. As the deadline for the briefing dawned closer, I realized I'd have to go without him, so up the stairs I went.

Entering the room, Reid was seated along with everyone else on the team except Morgan and Emily. They shortly followed after me. Hotch and JJ went ahead and delivered the normal case spiel. There have been over ten murders in a rural section of Utah over the past year, and the police have just realized the connection, especially since there were over twenty more unsolved cases from the past ten years that somewhat relate to them. Targets were typically females, no specific age, no specific body type, hair type, ethnicity, social status, or any relation to another victim.

Each had signs of torture. Most women had scalded faces, dismembered appendages, all done before this sadistic bastard killed them. Reid would occasionally look over to me and see how I was faring, but I was too morphed into my concentration. I had to find this person. These women needed justice.

"Wheels up in thirty," Hotch announced. Everyone bolted from the conference room. This included me. Throwing files into my bag, I pulled the duffel under my desk out, out of the corner of my eye I saw an approaching Spencer.

As much as I dreaded it, he did whisper the question, "Are you going to be alright?"

"I swear," I answered, feeling a blush rise to my face.

"Promise me?" he asked, making sure to not make any sort of eye contact to broadcast to the others we were conversing back and forth.

Nodding my head, I spoke an even, "Promise," and passed him making my way up the stairs.

* * *

"That's weird," I noticed as we were going over the case file on video chat with Garcia and Reid. "These death dates are rather close to each other, and it looks like the Unsub, metaphorically, 'cleans house' every ten years or so," I concluded. Rossi nodded in accordance and looked to Aaron who might've had the formation of a smile on his lips.

"Oh Florence, your positivity hurts," Penelope commented.

Spencer cleared his throat, butting in on Penelope's screen, "Mormon fundamentalist groups found in Utah could provide reasoning."

"Reid's right," Emily quipped, "And it looks like the Unsub keeps the bodies preserved and distributes them."

"Wait, Whoa!" Penelope exclaimed, typing into the computer.

"What is it Baby Girl?" Morgan raised his eyebrow at the camera, trying to see what Penelope's stroke of genius was about.

Curiosity got the better half of me as well, and I leaned in to find the image of a woman with a scarification of sorts, hands holding a red egg. "Mary Magdalene, patron saint of women, reformed prostitutes, pharmacies, perfumeries, and sexual temptation," Spencer recited.

David nodded, "The argued wife of Jesus."

"Not only this, but…" Garcia trailed, taking the picture of the women off the screen, "This has been happening since the 1960s."

"Family tradition," Rossi negatively announces, "But a Mormon wouldn't recognize or honor saints, this guy has a religion all of his own."

Grinding my teeth, I realized, "He's trying to find Magdalene."

* * *

As soon as we all landed, it was straight to the precinct to interrogate family members for most of the team. Somehow though, I was stuck on the video chat with Reid and Penelope. "Bethany Grace Kirkland," I muttered, picking up her file. Abducted at twenty one from the border of Nevada and Utah, she was never seen again until 1971, dead.

"We're supposed to be doing geographical profiling," Reid reminded me as Penelope shot him a nasty look. "Go ahead," he sighed.

"Her sister was with her the night she went missing, her twin to be exact. A lot of the police report is botched," I muttered in confusion. This signified foul play. Penelope began to type away on her computer. Spencer ceased to make red marks on the map before him and focused on the screen Garcia was working on.

Whistling while she worked, a smile crept up my face. Penelope knew how to make any moment lighter and cheery. "Hannah Kirkland Heights, born in 1939, married an auto mechanic at seventeen that passed in World War Two and hasn't remarried since. Deemed insane in 1961, a year after her sister's disappearance, but with no reasoning beneath the accusation. Involuntarily committed to a mental hospital that used to be in the town square, later sued the state, and now lives comfortably in the house she grew up in receiving damages, and knits for the crisis pregnancy center. An absolute saint Flo," Penelope sighed, "She didn't kill her sister."

"If her report to the police is botched and the insanity claim was without reasoning, it could be easily said that she knew who took her sister, and was shot down by society at the time," Spencer configured, smiling over Penelope's shoulder at me. "We'll send the address," he smirked.

* * *

The small white cottage was absolutely gorgeous, and from the outside only, it burst with character. Rose bushes of every variety, a white picket fence, a homemade wreath on the door, even the bin attached to the fence containing vegetables from the garden out back free to anyone who wanted any, reminded me of Penelope. A paved cobblestone path led up to the front porch—small—but not too small because there sat two rocking chairs on each side. Hummingbirds came and went from the hanging feeders, and in all reality I felt like seven dwarves would pop out at any moment.

Gathering courage, I walked up to the porch and knocked on the wooden door. Hearing paws on the other side; I eventually heard the door opening. A woman, about my height, but at once probably taller than me, opened the door and smiled warmly, "Hello, how may I help you?" she congenially queried.

"I'm SSA Florence Carter with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, I'd like to ask you some questions Ms. Heights concerning the recently missing women around the area," I tried to sound as friendly as possible. The dog I had heard earlier had a partner in crime; two plump corgis wagged their nonexistent tails at the woman's feet.

"Sure, come in dear, I'm sure that Wallace and Remy don't mind," she gestured towards the two pups at her feet. Her fingernails were painted with juvenile colors, and strangely her walls were covered in pictures of people, despite the fact all of her family is deceased. Yarn sat on the mantle instead of a television—which was housed on the top of a trunk. "The table has just been cleaned up from breakfast," Hannah gestured to the large oak feature, "Come, sit," her motherly voice beckoned.

Taking a chair, I flashed a modest smile, "Thank you, Ms. Heights."

"My pleasure Agent Carter, may I ask what this is about, and may I ask that you call me Hannah?" she peaked an eyebrow with the sharp elderly humor that I thought was downright adorable.

"I'm here because of the recent string of missing women, and your sister Hannah," I paused, waiting for a reaction.

It wasn't strong. In fact—this woman's reaction was quite subtle, "I'm not inclined to share a story that isn't mine Agent Carter."

My, she was classically spunky; when I grow older I want to be like this. "You can call me Florence if you like, but Hannah," I bit my lip looking for the right phrase, "I know that you've been wronged before and deemed unimportant but Ms… Hannah, you are vital to the case and the safety of women in this community."

"I'll do it," Hannah crossed her arms, answering almost immediately. "But we're going to the police station, I'm going to record it on my personal device, and your people can record it on your devices, and I want you to be the one that conducts the interview," she was determined. Hotch would probably be extremely upset, considering he was letting Reid fly out to do the interview, but he'd have to get over it.

"That can be done Hannah," I answered, "Thank you."

"One more thing," Hannah interrupted as I was packing up my things. After she knew she had caught my attention, she rubbed her temples, "You're so young, Florence, you have so much life and love ahead of you, why this job?"

Shrugging my shoulders, I removed myself from the chair and pushed it in as I stood, "It's something I don't think I could stop dreaming about doing." Smiling weakly, the woman stepped into the kitchen momentarily to feed her hungry companions.

"What about love? Kids? Husband?" she queried, closing the bottom cabinet as a bag of dog food emerged.

"I don't know Ms. Heights, I guess I'll have to figure out when I get there," I answered truthfully. She finished the task of feeding the ravenously hungry animals, but not before my phone buzzed with the indication of a text message.

*At the airport, be there in thirty.* Reid announced.

"You sound so much like Bethany."


	26. Chapter 26

A/N:

* * *

_**"Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, 'It might have been." ~ John Greenleaf Whittier.**_

* * *

Reid walked—scratch that—hobbled into the precinct shortly after Mrs. Heights arrived. Hotch gave us a discerning look as I bit my tongue to refrain from saying anything. She was already asking for me. As soon as Spencer sat down with me, joining the subordinate category, he noticed the tension between Aaron and I.

"I can do it Hotch," I tried to reassure him. Spencer looked and now knew the cause for the altercation looming.

"Carter decided it would be a good idea to promise Mrs. Heights an interrogation with her," Aaron rubbed his temples.

"She suggested it," I back myself up as Reid sighed. This wasn't fair. If the woman wanted me to interrogate her, what could it hurt?

Spencer pulled out a case file, "Go ahead and send Carter in," he propositioned, "It won't do any good to scare this woman away."

Aaron glared at me, sending a chill straight through my bones, "Damage has already been done," he muttered. Referring back to me, more or less sunk low in the seat, he continued, "I'll be out here with Reid listening."

Nodding, I excused myself from the toxic environment and looked back at the table. Swallowing the frog in my throat was a challenge. Nevertheless I pulled through and entered the door; Hannah was setting up her voice recorder and had a set of dull knitting needles in tow. "Nice to see you again, they didn't look too happy with you out there," Hannah waved.

Shrugging it away, I began to redirect the focus on me to her, "Can you tell me things about Bethany?"

Her eyes snapped up momentarily. Surreally they then went back to focusing on the trance like position of watching her knitting needles. "Well, she never was a patient woman, too much spite and spunk," she continued down the row of stitches. "She was immature in a sense, a little lost, she was always one of the boys, as the younger generation puts it," Hannah paused in reverence.

"So she wasn't noticed by any men?" I tried to wrap it up for Hannah.

Nodding her head, Hannah went back to the therapeutic quality of the needles she seemed adept to, "And she craved that attention desperately, she hated to be the husbandless sister, so she became a little loose," Hannah rose her shoulders up and down. "One night I take her to a little bar, I tell her I'd buy her one drink, we'd mingle, we'd go home," Hannah knitted at a quickening pace.

"Is that the night she went missing?" I questioned, watching her reactions that were well controlled by now.

Hannah sighed, "Yes, you see, someone found her in the bathroom with someone doing things that simply weren't acceptable for a lady of her status. It was a guy that had been a little too forceful on me and girls around town. Almost anyone was scared of him."

"Don't you think it was a little out of character for the spiteful and spunky Bethany to fall for that?"

"Yes, actually," Hannah shook her head with the realization, "Never thought of that," she quietly mused. "His name was Doug, Doug Janus, lived far off on a ranch he never mentioned the name of and came to town every weekend to womanize, creepy," Hannah shivered. "After they were caught, I insisted in the alleyway that Bethany come with me, but she said no, and eventually Doug took to slapping me across the face with Bethany crying in the background—I guess that's when she finally broke," Hannah concluded, trying to find her place in the now knotted knitting creation.

"Broke down?"

"Yeah," she raised her eyebrows.

Gathering all information retained, I pressed the button that put me on call to Hotch's Bluetooth. "Carter, everything going good in there?" his voice warned.

"Yes sir, just wondering if you could get Penelope to pull a file on Doug Janus, thank you," I clicked the Bluetooth off. I could see that I was losing Hannah by the minute with that little interruption. "Doug Janus, right? Can you describe him to me that night?"

"Yes, he wasn't terrible on the eyes, but he was old—too old to be pursuing a girl as young as Bethany. He was 30 at the time and still single. As I said, aggressive, I once saw him hit a girl a couple of times, my husband was home from the war and told him to back off," Hannah reminisced. "I still believed he killed her to this day," Hannah admitted, trying to keep dry eyes.

"Thank you Hannah," I tried to wrap things up, "I think that's all for today, but if you remember anything at all," I passed her my business card.

Shaking her head, she placed her hand lovingly over mine, "My pleasure sweetheart, and thank you."

Leaving the room was hard, exceptionally heartbreaking, but I walked out to hear Hotch and Reid arguing in the distance. They weren't at the table listening to the conversation, but instead around the corner. "Reid, you know that she shouldn't have promised that women an interview with her," Hotch scolded, "And yes, I get that you believe in her, but this is high profile, and I don't want someone who can easily make rookie mistakes."

"Thing is Hotch is that everyone will pick up on something different, and it might not be bad for Mrs. Heights to be able to trust law enforcement again," Spencer put forth my case. Mrs. Heights waved at me as she exited the precinct room.

"Reid, you are not in the position to make the decisions here, yes she's a fairly good agent with an apt eye, but she barely has any experience—it's nothing personal," Hotch ended, rounding the corner to see me propped up, arms crossed, in the door frame. He kept cool and suave but on the inside I hoped he was dying.

Exhaling, I initiated conversation, "It was wrong of me to promise an interview with Heights."

"It was, but other sources have told me you logic behind it," Aaron smirked as Spencer emerged from the corner of the hallway. "It went good Carter," he congratulated me as he rushed off someplace else quickly.

Smiling devilishly at Reid, I reminded myself to reward him later. Like my neck, his was covered in thick foundation that actually appeared natural, "Good job," he weakly grinned, hobbling away.

* * *

Returning to the hotel room early, I was growing tired of sitting at the precinct, trying to decipher the happenings of Bethany for Hannah. Ending up in a restaurant, sometime around one in the morning, with Reid and a few of the other locals, was actually quite interesting. There was a wild older couple that could've had the sex drives of two teens. Several young adult males taking to staring at Spencer and I. And several girls maybe a little bit older than me were giving me the evil eye that burned through the back of my skull.

During one point at our late night munchies fest, I snuck away to the ladies room. When resurfacing out from the back, I bumped into this guy in the back hallway, "I'm so sorry."

"No problem, say, that is quite a head of hair," he gestured to the curly, orangey-blonde, mess. "And a gun?" he tapped my waist, making me cringe from all the cases gone wrong.

"Excuse me," I hissed, removing his finger from my waist. This guy was seven different types of fishy… Probably comparable to that of a Kardashian's vagina.

He didn't seem to like that instead he gripped at my side even more so, "You've got seven demons on your face sweetheart," he gritted his teeth.

Slapping his hand away, it didn't make a lot of noise, for which I was thankful. "Who are you?" I asked disgustedly. When he refused to answer, I knew how to draw him into making a scene and exposing himself. So I huffed dramatically and walked away moodily.

He followed, "Hey!" his footfalls chased after me. He used a table to hop up on to get in front of me to grab my face. "And behold, a woman of the city, a sinner…"

Reaching into the holster, I gripped my hands around my Glock as I planted a kick to his ribs. Stumbling backwards, he fell to the ground with a fierce commotion. Spencer had his gun trained on him as I flipped the struggling man over on his back to cuff him, "You are under arrest for the assault and battery of a federal agent," I began to recite the Miranda rights and Reid said he'd call Morgan to come and get him and Hotch to meet me at the precinct.

* * *

Flipping through the man's drivers license, I came to realization his name was eerily Janus, Janus Kirkland. He shared some similarities with Hannah, but I had to shake that at this moment, we had to get to the precinct. "Hopefully this Hotchner guy is a lot more assertive than Reid or whatever his name was," Janus rolled his eyes. "Sweetheart, you've still got seven demons in your eyes," he smiled sickly. I thought I was going to become nauseated if this key of douche was to keep penetrating my ear at this consistency.

Emily helped transport the guy into the interrogation. Handing over all of the identification, I quickly went into interrogation along with Rossi. "Hello again Janus," I greeted him, slapping down the files of pictures related to the case.

"I was hoping to add you to the stack," Janus snidely remarked as Rossi clenched his teeth.

"Married men, be affectionate towards your wives, and do not treat them harshly," David recited, pacing around the room, observing Janus's reactions.

"Seems like honey's husband hasn't been treating her too well then, especially with the amount of charred skin I got to feel," his words swirled around me like daggers.

Anger curled into my fists as I crashed down in the chair in front of the table Janus's hands were politely positioned on top of. "Listen here bastard," I cursed, elevating my tone, "This isn't about a power play, this isn't about religion, this is about something inhumane and disgusting."

"Like your body or your sexual urges?" he pointed at me through the cuffs. "Even better, that nasty wound where the demons entered?"

Dave nodded and I left the room, not wanting to put up with that crap. It was true I already freaking knew it. Gratefully, I caught a ride with a fuming mad Derek to the crime scene. He had his jaw locked and a stern look ingrained in his features, clutching the wheel at a rate I thought it would explode. "That asshole," he finally combusted, "Don't listen to that crap Flo."

"I'm not," I lied.


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N:** Hey! Just to let everyone know... There's about five more chapters left (The last two are so short I'll publish them on the same day.)

But... There's a sequel I'm conjuring up! It'll probably be short, maybe ten chapters, maybe fifteen at the _very_ most. I'm planning on publishing the first real chapter of that Friday, with a preface on Thursday or on the day Hallelujah is complete. And why not unveil the title of the sequel? I'll put it at the end of the chapter.

Thank you all for subscribing, favoriting, or just reading. I know this isn't the most original story line with several faults in the canon, but I try my very best to keep it... Interesting? But that implies the canon isn't interesting, and that'd be a lie.

I don't own Criminal Minds.

* * *

**_"Women are like teabags; you never know how strong they are until they're put in hot water." ~Eleanor Roosevelt_**

* * *

This ranch was complete hell. When we arrived, almost every woman in there screamed in panic, all huddling in the corner of a musky basement. Each one was clothed in dingy dresses, all looking terribly worn. Almost all were without any sort of nutritional value and a healthy color.

After calling in ambulances, with specific instructions for female paramedics, Derek excused himself. There were seven women in here, all from the case file. "Look, I'm not here to hurt you, and I'm here to take you back to safety alright?" I announced, holding one hysterical blonde's hand as she trembled with either fear or happiness.

"He's going to hurt you," an older woman forewarned, she seemed to have a good head on her shoulders—but nevertheless one twisted by the misconceptions.

Her shrilling voice echoed in my soul, and I was glad that I didn't have to answer that, or that I didn't force myself to. These women have been here for months, some were probably here for years. I only underwent torture for a week, only seven meager days—in my eyes I had no right to tell them to feel safe.

Paramedics filed in, and the team relocated at the site, handing things over to the task force working on the project. Leaving early that morning with a heavier heart than before I finally got to see how I impacted someone's life by simply choosing this lifestyle. My weary eyes insightfully trained on the earth passing below me as I absorbed it. I belonged here.

This all was happening to me for a reason. Gates, even though I tried to keep him at the bottom of my worries, he happened to me for a divine purpose. I'd never been a fan of destinies because mine originally was fatally skewered and immoral, but in the cabin of the jet, I comprehended that my destiny wasn't mine anymore. People who had made impacts had lead me to do wrong, to do right, and a little more. Yes, I ultimately had the choice to rise to the occasion.

Rising to the occasion included not giving up, long hours of treatment, time spent on the bathroom floor sweating, thinking I would die from the intense withdrawals, pulling myself together, loving and devoting myself to someone who would go insane, studying for those tests, and at the very top—doing the right thing. What I did mattered now and I couldn't screw up royally.

It was intense thinking to say the least. With only sparse sleep the night before, I was appalled at the functioning level my brain possessed.

* * *

"Everything alright?" Penelope swiveled in the chair to face me.

Shrugging my shoulders, I tried to complete this minor report from the Utah incident. "I'm fine, why?"

Her eyes trained back to her computer. She was typing and sending things to another team of Technical Analysts for review. "Derek said that you were really spaced out on the plane and Derek, me, Rossi, and just about everyone else were very pissed at the comments made towards you by Janus," Penelope pecked away, yawning at the LED display.

Janus was an asshole. It happened though; I couldn't be hurt by something I actually believed about myself. "Well, was thinking about it all, I haven't got to do that recently," I confessed.

Penelope reached around to retrieve something. I loved this woman. In her office she was surrounded by everything good, she still kept fragments of herself—a happy, cheerful, high spirited woman with a marvelous head on her shoulders. Sometimes I was convinced that Garcia was more intelligent than Reid but only in some topics. "Utah?" Penelope asked.

"Everything," I bit my lip.

"Do you mind if the Oracle of Quantico asks why the young maiden's beautiful mind was wandering in decrepit places?" she enthusiastically interrogated.

It brought a smile to my face. Putting down the pen, I cleared my throat, "I don't mind O Wise one." As Garcia finished typing, she rolled over to face me, her hand waved as if she was giving me incentive to spill. Reading the painted mosaic clock over her shoulder, it was nearly eight in the evening. "This is just the first case I got my 'Aha!' moment, you know? Felt like I was a key factor, that I actually made the difference, and before the case I got a chance to read Reid's criminal journal on my case," I cautiously explained, not wanting to reveal the true nature of Reid's and I's bond.

"You always make a difference Flo, whether you feel it or not," her two hands clasped over one of mine. "And now for Sweet Cheek's criminal journal, do you want to speak about that?"

Nodding my head, I looked down at my shoes as if they held the most interesting feat in the world. Maybe the plastic buckle on the flats would give me divine inspiration and the muse of Homer. "Basically, he said that when he left me in police custody before being shipped to rehab, a life of evil and a life of morality were equal choices for me, and that he didn't know if I was leaning towards one or the other," I frowned, finding the courage to pick my head up. "It reminds me that if these events… No matter how difficult they are… Lead me away from harming people," I shivered in my skin.

"It doesn't mean you deserve harm Flo," Garcia gave me a stern look.

Shaking my head, I expressed, "I know that, but when the team found me Penelope… It was rough. I know what Reid meant by what he said because I never felt the need to do right, no amount of rehab or therapy, no medicine made me want to do right, it is an external force Garcia," I became flustered, trying to find reasoning in my words.

"I think it's more internal than you think," Penelope urged, giving my hand several shakes and squeezes, "The way you handle things, the way you process and think, you are so wise and mature."

"Well, Hotch isn't too happy with me, that's for sure," I sighed, picking my pen back up, trying to avoid heavier topics.

* * *

"You wanted to speak with me?" I knocked on the door frame of Hotch's office.

"Sit down Carter," Hotchner ordered.

I was being sent in here far too often for my liking, "You made personal ties to a victim, nearly jeopardized the discovery of a fifty year syndicate, broke protocol, and didn't remove your weapon while off duty," Hotchner announced. The words stabbed at my self esteem and I was sure I was going to be fired. "In all honesty Agent Carter, while you exhibited excellent confidence, it was the textbook definition of a reckless agent, and it makes me believe you are still impaired…"

"I passed psychological and psychiatric assessments," I interrupted him.

"We work in the Behavioral Analysis Unit; we all know that everyone knows exactly how to act and how to answer these questions. Instead of suspending you, I'm going to ask Rossi to mentor you," Hotchner explained, stacking up files on the desk.

Before I was going to lash back, I realized how that wouldn't help my case, "Thank you sir," I managed.

"My pleasure Florence, you're a natural Agent with a good head on your shoulders, but people above me won't see it in that perspective."

* * *

Spencer had to catch a ride home with me, not that I was complaining at all. Something was eerie about the way the rain stained the window. Phone ringing, when I realized the person's picture op up I was astonished to see who had interrupted my thoughts once more. "Juliet," I grimaced, answering the call.

"Hey, it's been forever since I've talked to you," her voice was full of so much fake enthusiasm I wanted to grab my purse and barf.

My sister and I never did get along. Juliet always liked to live with people around her in her perfect, stainless world. "What do you want?" I snapped back.

"You're going to find this more pleasurable than appropriate," Juliet sighed. Something in me told my evil subconscious that she was right. Spencer gave me a concerned look before I burst out into laughter.

For once, my sister needed someone else, specifically me. "You actually remember me; go ahead, what do you need?" I asked, trying to own up to my smugness.

"Holly is sixteen and… and…" Juliet began crying.

Holding back as long as I could, I knew this was Juliet's ploy for attention. Either way, I was going to do it for Holly, she didn't deserve Juliet as a mom. "I'll do it," I groaned.

Sniffling, a more jovial tone passed over her, "You don't even know what I'm asking."

It took all my strength not to crush the phone. She just loves to dump and run. Juliet's done it before, way back when, and after a few years of responsibility it's no wonder why she can't take it anymore. "Bring Holly up here, same address as last time, she can stay with me," I quickly replied.

"Thank you so much," Juliet snorted, "We're in Philadelphia and we're going to be there by nightfall." And with that, the phone clicked off.

Philadelphia? _Philadelphia_? That manipulative bitch already knew I was going to say yes. Might as well save some time and begin the drive. My insides were turning in anger and my phone launched to the floor. "Stupid bitch," I cursed under my breath.

Spencer bit his lip, "Everything alright?"

I couldn't answer that right now. If I possessed the power to not reply with a large bitter compliment that would evoke a fight, I deserved self-control of the year award. Turning off of the exit, I decided now was a good time to answer him since he was being so patient, and in no way did I desire to attain any of my sister's traits, "My sister is dropping off her troubled teen with me for God knows how long."

"Wait and you actually agreed to it, Florence…"

"I know, I'm an idiot, with Alex chasing me around, with all of the days I'm gone, the fact it's a sixteen year old," I hushed him. This couldn't possibly work.

* * *

_Alright... If you care... The sequel is sticking with a song theme. This story is named after Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah (even though I was thinking the Jeff Buckely styling of it.) _

_I'm 90% sure the sequel will be called: **"Malibu."** And yes, Malibu as in the Hole song. It's nice to skip genres. I am also thinking another song, but that'd give away too much of the plot. I do not own these songs. _

**_So what do you think of Holly? Leave it in the crotch... Youtube moment :P._**


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N:** Like I babbled about in my other story... Reviews would be really nice at this point in the game. It doesn't truthfully apply to this one because I knew from the beginning how this story would go, but it'd be nice to hear from you guys :).

I appreciate every one of you and hope you enjoy the chapter :).

* * *

**_"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars." ~Oscar Wilde_**

* * *

"Florence," Juliet ducked her head to greet me. I was ecstatic that she was embarrassed by her perfect little life. In tow was a girl in a pair of spandex shorts and a tight, low cut, crop top. Her face was plastered with every makeup under the sun. This mess had visible roots sprouting from her scalp and constricted pupils.

I reached to the couch and unfolded a pair of sweats and a t-shirt of mine, handing it to Holly. "I'm alright," Holly pushed the clothes back, blowing a voluptuous pink bubble.

"I didn't ask you if you were fine, there's a bathroom to the right," I passed the clothing to her again.

"No," the defiant teen said as she walked into the room.

Crossing my arms, I plopped the clothes back into her hands, "There's goose bumps on your asscheeks, sweetheart, go change while Juliet and I talk."Surprisingly, she gave me an eye roll and retreated to the bathroom. "So, what are the details on this Juliet?" I queried, waiting until Holly was out of earshot. It was bad enough that her mother was shipping her around to relatives; she didn't need me to drag her down even further. From the way she dressed I could tell her self esteem was equivalent to that of a walnut.

"Well… It's hard to tell," Juliet yawned, "It was a long car ride, I'm…"

"No you're not," I interrupted her well thought out speech that she'd slander me in. Juliet always thought of herself as a step above me, always better than me, and I don't think I can handle the situation cordially if she put me down in any way. My sister is the poster child for a sociopathic personality. "Just hand me the papers, send me a check for rent each month, and I can handle the rest," I held my hand out.

"I am, don't be so rude, you know what Mom would say. Anyways, I'm going to say goodbye to my daughter," Juliet dramatically declared. "The papers are in this folder, and I've taken the time to enroll her in school," she added, flipping the blue folder over to me.

Crossing my arms, I heard the door shut, "Thank you," I proclaimed through clenched teeth. Taking the folder, I flipped through the packet full of personal information regarding Holly.

Mother and daughter exchanged impersonal goodbyes, not that I didn't expect it. Holly didn't even respond to her mother until Juliet was forcing a hug onto her. The sheer misery in the girl's face was evident.

Juliet came to embrace me; I had to push her away. Not only did I hate that woman more than hate itself, the scars littering my skin would raise questions, suspicions, and everything I didn't want to deal with. Somehow, Juliet found the emotion to cry, something I thought statutes weren't capable of. Holly rolled her eyes as she hugged her mom like she was obligated to. Finally, after thirty grueling minutes, Juliet left. The anvil lying on my throat was lifted off and air stung my lungs so sweetly.

"Holly," I sat next to her on the couch when I locked the door behind me. Holly glanced nervously at my gun and badge.

She was afraid of the law, as any teen was, "Yeah?"

Coughing lightly, she did not take the hint, "Holly, do you even know what relation you have to me?" Holly shook her head. Her eyes traveled over to her bags, anxiously, as if something was there she needed. With an inconspicuous scratch of the neck, she gave away everything I needed to know. "I'm your aunt," I trailed off, trying to let silence get to her.

"Uh, yeah," she replied, her eyes once again trained on the pink duffel bag. "Can I like, go unpack, err, bitch," she stammered, trying to attain edge that would send some adults to a breaking point.

"No, bitch," I retorted, trying to get her attention. "Listen here, I was just like you and my whole life crumbled, and it's hell building it back up from scratch," I blushed red at the thought of her knowing all of my secrets.

Holly sniggered, "I doubt it, you're just a…" Holly let out a round of laughter once more. My teeth grinded against each other in an attempt to keep myself in check.

Shaking my head after Holly refused to finish what she said; I began to get my proposals straight. "In the dining room," I demanded, pointing there. Holly folded her arms across her chest, shaking her head and giving me a look I had received and given on copious occasions. "Holly, dining room," I reiterated.

With no success, Holly whined, "I just want to go unpack…"

"No, I'm going to tell you the rules before we unpack," I pursed my lips in dominance. Holly had to know what was going to happen to her if she continued this lifestyle. I wanted to tell her all about the hell I had to endure, those countless days in the white rooms, the numerous people that had turned against me, anything that had been permanently screwed up because of my self-destructive masked behind the face of fun. "First off, there are absolutely no drugs in this household, none."

Holly's eye twitched at that and the corner of her lip made a devious trip upwards. "I will administer a drug test every week, even though I know the first four you're going to fail, I'll be able to see what else comes into this household."

"I don't do drugs," Holly rebutted, her face flashing red.

Shaking my head, I pulled my badge out. Flashing it to her, I stated, "I'm a drug specialist, not to mention a former drug abuser, and I'm going to compromise with you." Placing the badge on the coffee table, I reeled in my thoughts to the best of my ability.

"Sure you are," Holly scoffed, refusing to make any sort of eye contact with anything, including me, in the room. It wasn't an issue; I could see how much she truthfully hated herself by her disposition. She even stared at the turned around mirrors lining some of the walls like it was a relief.

Holly and I were so alike, it pained me. If it pained me, it must've nearly killed Juliet, and all of my estranged family. It probably killed Holly too, even though she didn't know it yet. "Look, if you come and tell me you're struggling coming off of the drug, and after this you relapse or something, then I can live with that. I cannot live with knowing that the person under my care is having an issue with something I can help them with," I turned my head to face her. For a moment she met me with glistening eyes. "Second, I cannot allow you to walk around this city exposed," I racked my brain for adjectives that would work in the place of 'whore' and 'slut.'

"My clothes, my body, my choice," Holly repeated like it was her mantra. Her dyed black hair shook along with her head to signify she wasn't okay with it.

"When we get to unpacking, we can discuss it further…"

"There's no discussion," Holly spoke between her teeth.

Dismissing it, I knew I had to keep my ground when the time came, "Third, curfew is one on the weekends, and twelve on school nights and Sundays. If you prove you're trustworthy, I can be flexible."

Holly shrugged her shoulders, smiling at that news. I actually smirked a little bit too; Bertha, my mother and the person Holly lived with last, had ridiculous curfews of nine thirty. It was a rule I always broke and Bertha had no control over. "Fourth, school is not a place to fight, have sex, deal drugs, do drugs, or start rumors. I'm not requiring you to be an all A student, but I am asking you to turn in all of your work, and actually go to school," I recited.

With a blank stare, I knew that Holly wanted to appear she wasn't listening to throw me off, but I knew she was. Spencer would have a conniption about all of the micro-expressions Holly had that showed interest. "From what I was able to read, you can miss ten days a semester or something… So if you don't want to go to school, tell me. You can't go out and party and stuff while you're home on school hours, but you can stay out until ten thirty that evening. Since it's summer, curfew begins at one o'clock, with Wednesday being the only exception."

She gave herself away, beaming for a nanosecond before she noticed I noticed. "Fifth, your mom, no offense, is a dimwit thinking you don't have sex," I slandered. Holly burst out into laughter, trying not to blush; it was hard for me too. "But…" I giggled along with her until we both were red faced. Getting my composure back, I finished my thought, "If you want birth control, I will buy it for you."

"Can I go up to my room now?" Holly asked, staring at the pink duffel. She was beginning to show the glossy sheen of sweat. Now would be the time she'd probably go to snort, inject, or smoke to relieve the symptoms. It's what I would've done.

"You probably won't get any sleep tonight, so I'm willing to stay up with you to unpack," I sighed. There was no way in hell I'd be able to get to work tomorrow. Holly was about to protest, but I kept her at bay, "Look, I know you have heroin in the front pocket of that pink Nike duffel bag. Holly, I know withdrawal sucks major ass, especially when it's forced on you, but I have no room to judge you for the matter."

"Really now?! How the hell do you know, Florence!" she exclaimed.

Pulling up my sleeve, I pointed out the track marks littering the once pure porcelain skin. They signified a small part of a whole phase of my life wasted on destroying myself and everyone else. "The government forced me into inpatient when I was nearly eighteen for a number of reasons, I had to kick the habit I had maintained for a year," I admitted. There was no sense in it, she'd simply reject it. I'd become hurt again because I put myself out there.

Holly shook her head, "You're not me!"

"I agree," I gave in, "I'll show you to your room and I'll sleep on the couch so I know if you come up."


	29. Chapter 29

_**A/N:** I do believe next chapter is the initiation of a large event. Actually, next chapter is the final full sized chapter left. _

_Reviews would be heavily appreciated. __Especially reviews surrounding Holly. It does take away from the canon, but Holly is set to play a huge role in the sequel, and you'll see why later. Which brings me to saying... Friday, I am updating the final two chapters back to back since they are so short. Depending on whatever you, the readers, say... I can upload the prologue to the sequel along with the other two chapters because I wasn't planning on uploading the sequel until November until I was able to sit down and get a solid eight chapters on the computer. Either way, I'm going to create a chapter on this story, linking it to the sequel. _

_PM or review, which reviewing you don't even have to log in to do. _

_Thank you for staying with me for almost thirty some chapters :) and enjoy!_

_Oh... And to the guest who commented on 10/10, since I can't message, when you do see this, Spencer and Flo have this loving-annoyance relationship. Also, the chapter you reviewed for, Chapter 7, just shows how Florence isn't scared to voice herself against Spencer. If anyone has any questions, ask me please, because I know I'm a tad bit vague at times. _

_Without further or due... Chapter 29!_

* * *

**_"I find that much of my family doesn't share my blood." ~Unknown_**

* * *

Holly woke me up in the morning. Given that she was simply getting a glass of water. This prompted me to rouse up, "Hey, Holly, could you grab a couple of these please?" I called into the kitchen.

Without a word, she began taking bag after bag to Harrison's old bedroom; I personally took the pink duffel so she wouldn't have the chance to be left alone with it. Once the task was completed, I discarded the pink bag off to the side. Holly began ripping open suitcases and trying to sort herself out so I wouldn't have a chance to see the clothing she had. "Calm down, let's sit and talk," I tried to make peace with her.

"There's nothing to talk about," Holly snapped, opening drawers.

"How about you tell me what you want?" I tried a power play. Her eyes twinkled for a solitary second before they narrowed once more and glared a thousand daggers.

Holly tapped her chin mockingly, "All of it."Shaking my head, I watched her 'badass' façade slip away. "Fine, what are your, _guidelines_?" she spat.

"Dresses cannot be shorter than fingertip length, or they can't be shorter than mid thigh," I pronounced. Holly shrugged, it didn't affect her. "Skirts can't be see through, and they can't be shorter than dresses."

"I'm going to argue that later, but continue," Holly smirked.

Furrowing my brow, I commented, "I don't doubt it." Holly laughed, her violet eyes watering with happiness for the first time, I suspected, in a very long time. "Shirts cannot be worn without a bra, and if it's see through, it cannot be worn without a tank top. Also, if you can help it, I don't want your bra to be poking out from the top of your shirt. And absolutely no spandex as shorts worn in public."

"How about skirts having an inseam of four inches?" Holly questioned, trying to model one for me. In all honesty, it was only a little bit sluttish, nothing too terribly bad.

In fact, if she wore a nice shirt that didn't have her boobs hanging out of them, she'd look approachable. Approachable in the sense of 'clean' rather than 'I have seven STD's.' "That's as short as I can stand. Also, shorts must have an inseam of three inches, and your asscheek can't be falling out," I replied.

Holly grinned, beginning to unload the clothing. Moving myself over to help her, she smiled brightly. "How old are you Flo?" Holly questioned.

"Twenty two," I snickered. Holly nodded in agreement as she reached into a far corner of the suitcase. She placed an orange bottle in my palm. It was stuffed to the brim of white power—a full stamp of heroin. "Thank you, Holly, it's the right thing to do," I blushed. When I was sixteen I wouldn't have handed over my heroin. Holly even tossed over a bag of needles.

I still watched over her, making sure her palms were empty. About half way through the second suitcase, with two full dressers and a half full closet, Holly cleared her throat, "You really aren't that bad, this is the first place I've actually felt safe."

Tears brimmed at my eyes, "Thanks," I mustered, "I'm glad I finally get to meet you." This was by far one of the most dangerous places she's ever been. Holly is so blind to what I could do just by being in association with her. It's quite scary.

Another brave thing Holly did, she tossed me the bag I knew contained the drugs and left the room. When I opened the bag, her sheets and quilt and such she brought for comfort laid over top of at least seven other pill bottles full of variants of heroin. There was marijuana as well, along with fetanyl and countless pills, needles, and papers to roll joints with. How was I going to get rid of all of this stuff? There were at least several hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars in this bag alone. I'd have to bury it, scatter the powder, something.

After thoroughly emptying the illicit substances, I realized I could simply mix the heroin all together and pour it outside. So that's what I did. Draining half of the water bottle I had, I began mixing together the first bottle. I'd need at the very least four more bottles of water.

So I brought the loot upstairs, telling her that her room was clean to my knowledge. Holly said that it was and I had to believe her. Bringing down a large pitcher, I mixed the entire heroin together, making a solution large enough to kill twenty people.

The smell got me, that sweet smell of ecstasy and demise all mixing into one. I was tempted to dip a finger quickly in and out similar to that of brownie batter. It took all of the self control I possessed to walk outside and pour it into the grass. Sighing, next was the marijuana.

That substance was eliminated by throwing it down into a grate in the middle of the sidewalk. Thank god no one I knew lived around these parts. The pills were disposed of by flushing.

Trekking back into her room, I saw Holly setting up a picture frame or two on the desk. One was of a guy holding her around the waist. He was extremely handsome. Ironically, she actually looked happy and well in that shot. "That was very brave of you," I praised her.

"Yeah, doesn't feel brave," Holly sulked, pinning a Mexican blanket to the pale white wall over her speakers.

Reaching over to shove the pillows into a bright pink pillow case, I reminded her, and myself, "A butterfly spends its whole life not knowing it's beautiful because they can't see their wings."

Holly sighed, hanging up a poster with various tribal designs on it. As long as it wasn't something claiming that legalizing pot would solve everyone's problems, I didn't care. "Anything around the house that you want in here?" I questioned, trying to create some sort of reliability on my part.

"Well, not really, just the water color in the dining room, but you probably like that," Holly chuckled, hanging scarves from an organizer on the back of her door.

Shaking my head, I walked into the dining room, located right outside her room, and took the painting off of the wall. Leaning it up against the arch between the kitchen and dining area, I retrieved hammer and nails from the tool kit. "No, seriously, you don't have to," Holly insisted from her doorway.

"My ex fiancé's brother painted that, and I absolutely cannot stand it throwing off the color in that room," I lugged the frame into the colorful room.

"Well, thanks," Holly beamed as she watched me hammer the picture to its new home. The rainbow swirls were perfect above the leather chair that sat under it. Her room was teaming with color and life. I hoped this would reflect her new beginning.

* * *

"So, let me get this straight, you want to become a stationary agent on the team?" Hotchner interrogated over the phone. Holly was in the shower and Spencer, Penelope, and Derek were coming over later.

"Yes sir, only having to fly out when I'm absolutely needed, I'm willing to take the pay cut," I set forth.

"Then it's done."

* * *

Penelope arrived first, with her usual bright self. I was glad to see her, and I was looking forward to seeing her much more frequently, "Good evening, love."

"Penelope," I returned her embrace. Penelope hugs were the absolute best. Breaking away from the affection was a bittersweet feeling in the pit of my stomach, but at least it wasn't the burn, "That's my niece, Holly Matthews. Holly, this is the awesome Penelope Garcia, I work with her," I introduced them both.

Holly smiled brightly, even larger than in the picture of her and the boy, "I love your sunflower," Holly pointed to Penelope's hair. With the arrival of the next guest, Derek, Penelope and Holly scurried off to their own little corner. Something told me they were going to become great friends.

"Hey Derek," I waved, giving him the hug his outstretched arms craved.

"Good evening Flo, how are you doing?" Derek interrogated, giving an encouraging glance towards Penelope.

Smiling, I answered, "Alright, Penelope's over there with my…"

"Hush Flo, I'm doing the introductions," Penelope interrupted. Penelope did as she promised and the four of us all sat around and joked. Occasionally, I found myself looking in the reflection of the TV, which was playing soft music, for Spencer's car. We were all supposed to play Monopoly or something like that tonight, maybe it was Jenga. I don't care what it is; I just want him to come.

And he eventually did, springing from my seat; I refrained from running to the door. Penelope and Derek shared the same gaze that let me know that they knew. Great. Opening the door for Spencer, I remarked, "Well, this one's a record."

Spencer rolled his eyes, ignoring his crutches and extending his arms for a hug. He didn't have to ask me twice. Wrapping my arms around him, a few giggles erupted from the other side of the room. "Hey Flo," Spencer stammered, maneuvering the living room.

"Hey Spencer, that's my niece, Holly. Holly, that's Dr. Spencer Reid," I pointed to the beaming girl. She was obviously smiling for the same reason as Garcia and Morgan.

"Hey Spencer," Holly waved. Penelope got out the Monopoly board, and I returned to my seat. Spencer sat beside me and Holly sat to my left. "Onto the next one, Auntie?" Holly sneered.

Nudging her in the side, I was glad that Derek and Penelope didn't get the opportunity to hear that, even though Penelope sat in the chair neighboring Holly and Derek sat next to Spencer. Noticing Spencer, I realized how he had strategically shifted the table so he could inconspicuously rest a hand on my thigh without drawing attention to us. All I had to do was keep my cool.

This proved to be hard. Garcia passed out the money and his hand shifted the tiniest bit. Shivers ran up and down my spine and a grin plastered his face. Gently his thumb began to motion in circles, everything in me wanted to jump from the seat.

The game continued for hours, and countless times Penelope insisted she get the drinks. What I wouldn't do for some time away from Spencer's constant teasing. Into hour three, Derek went bankrupt. Shamefully, his eyes refused to give away their constant twinkle. Morgan, though he probably did have a slew of issues, was one of the most reliable people I knew. Those eyes briefly met mine and the others around the table. Mine were the only ones that probably looked like they were coming out of my eye sockets.

Upon reaching hour five, Spencer had won and Penelope said her goodbyes, even giving Holly her phone number. Spencer finally stopped playing with my legs and gave me the chance to rush around to make up for being a slapdash hostess with trembling knees.

That condescending smirk of confidence so uncharacteristic to the personality in the real world illuminated his features. Those eyes drilled more caves into my back as they studied assiduously everywhere I meandered. Studied, it made me sound like a person of interest rather than the equivalent of a torn, weathered, balled up piece of paper.


	30. Chapter 30

_**A/N:** Tomorrow, I will have updated all chapters for this story. _

_It's bittersweet. _

_So... What do you think is going to happen in the next two chapters? The next chapter is when it really goes downhill, at least in this story arc. _

_Leave it in the reviews :). Anyone who has been following for a while... Or has read to this point- What would you rate the story as? I'm curious. _

_Well... Enjoy!_

* * *

**_"There have been tyrants and murderers, and for a time, they can seem invincible, but in the end, they always fall. Think of it-always." ~Mahatma Ghandi_**

* * *

Penelope and Rossi approached me in the bullpen. Ever since Hotchner had assigned David to official mentor, he'd been stopping by recently. Life was going quite nicely for me; everything was clicking into a place that was of comfort.

But, I had to be insane, _again_, to say that without a lie. August initiated the downfall of the calm and quiet remainder of June and the entirety of July. Whatever their solemn faces were about to tell me wasn't going to make my situation any better. "Hey," they both greeted at the same time, awkwardly shuffling alongside each other. They were so alike and different at the same time, like staunch opposites with everything in common. Something inside of me knew they'd never reveal it, because one of those shared traits was pride in themselves and acceptance of their personalities.

"Good morning, new case?" My eyebrows temporarily rose. Penelope shook her head.

Rossi shoved his hands in his pockets, and Penelope made the 'follow me' motion. Immediately, my mind jumped to one thing, actually two. There are two things in the world that are priorities to me, and it's pretty obvious to know that. Gathering papers, I followed them into the conference room.

Staring at the team that was already seated, I took a deep breath and a seat between Rossi and Penelope. Spencer met my eyes for a brief second, last night we had fought, we cried, but Reid insisted he didn't, and we squabbled a little more before he finally had the sense to pull the plug on the evening. At one point, Holly even yelled at them to shut up and 'go do it' already. It wasn't something I liked her knowing, but she was sworn to secrecy on the terms that I extended her curfew.

Holly was struggling, every day I left and dropped her off at work made my heart and mind go in different directions. Over the past two months I learned to love her, to protect her, for the time being Holly was essentially my child. I trusted that Holly wouldn't get into trouble, but my mind told me not to expect that much of her, that I knew how I acted when I was recovering. The constant moral battle never stopped, along with the morality of Spencer and I's relationship that had been kept secret for a little over five months, almost six. Then, I add the Alexander issue atop of the mess, along with the issues of scars from the covert mission in Seattle, and now, sitting in this conference room, I'm grasping just how old I feel.

With Garcia's clear of throat, JJ began clicking the slideshow. "Jesus Christ," my mouth dropped, seeing myself and another picture of a girl I knew quite well. I'd recently talked to her; we were going to see the execution together. Hell, we were best of friends since the third grade when I accidently spilled milk on her foe. Why her? Seriously, why?

_Because we got away, we were smarter. _

And the sick feeling made itself known in my stomach while I controlled my shock in front of the team. I might have escaped the first time, but this time, this time there was so much more to lose. There are so many morals, so many things that aren't expendable like they used to be. Blinding drapes of apathy didn't cover my eyes anymore like they did four years ago. As the team studied my reaction, even though I didn't make one, they continued through the slideshow.

Eliza was dead. God, she was dead because she lived. Guilt filled my conscience, if Gates was trying to hurt me, who would he go after? Who would have to die first?

* * *

Though I knew that it was selfish, and it put all of us in danger, Spencer came home with me tonight. Holly had a group meeting down the street for a CPR class so she could babysit during the school day and I had nothing per usual. Spencer was silent, looking into the definitions of the television like it held knowledge he didn't possess.

Sighing, he swiveled his head to gaze at me. With no warning whatsoever, he planted a kiss on my lips, a kiss with traits I couldn't ever recall him ever having. This affection was hungry, passionate; it might've even contained notes of intermediate lust. It wasn't like him; it wasn't like Spencer to do that. Reid knew it too. I could tell that it was all intentional.

Even with lusty and provocative lip lock, I could feel those tears on the back of my blue shirt. They stuck to my skin, even though the silence left words skin deep. What was I going to do? My carelessness would kill me, it would be my demise.

My demise? My chest split into two at the realization that it wasn't solely me anymore. How could I have been so selfish? Arms found their way to wrap around Spencer tightly. He loved me like I wouldn't be around much longer. Spencer pulled away, and I let my arms fall, he held out a small box and before he opened it I thought he had lost his mind. It's a great thing I didn't react because once he opened it there were two rather plump emerald earrings nestled in the navy velvet.

"I saw them and they reminded me of your eyes," he sheepishly smiled, the light illuminating the tracks of tears left on his cheeks. "Also green represents optimism, hope, safety, luck, prosperity," Spencer rattled, waiting for a reaction. His arms were shaking.

Instead of torturing him, since he appeared to have been dragged to hell and back, I smiled, "Thank you," I mustered. Tears feel from my eyes too as I took the box. What if it had been a diamond? I would have to say no, as I probably should with the earrings, even with Spencer's visit. This was putting us all in danger and I felt absolutely sick at myself for not doing anything about it. My arms wrapped around him quickly, hugging him closer as I remembered each words that was uttered in the conference room, "I love you so much," I spoke the words my brain was fighting.

Reid nodded slowly as his head rested on my shoulder, "Promise me you're not going to play hero Flo," Spencer whispered.

Sobs formed in my chest at the statement. I really hated lying. This case was going to be the worse by far since it was local, thus meaning I had to go out on scene and be directly involved. "As long as no one else does," I answered, realizing that he couldn't hold up against Gates if it came down to a physical brawl. Alexander would probably succeed in weapons as well since Spencer was a poor shot.

It was something I would've brushed off and worried about later, but later was now and reality and I were about to go head to head.

* * *

I couldn't sleep, there were too many noises. Rain falling down didn't help this and I sat on the couch and waited for the worse to happen. Rossi said in the room that his pattern was going to pick up soon, that the love of blood and havoc were at his fingertips, and that those fingertips wanted more. As the rain went through periods of heavy and light, along with the dark shadows on the walls since I didn't want to leave any evidence for Holly.

With a gun between the cushions, I was prepared for anything to occur. Lighting struck somewhere in the distance and I could almost remember my mother's voice urging me to count the seconds. That's when a second seemed too long to endure. From what I knew now, the twenty three years that had sanded me down to the hyper-vigilant mess I am now had taught me that the seconds didn't slow down for anyone because they were always chasing down the next minute, the next hour.

I didn't want to anymore. I yearned to be back in the time of simplicity, where the only thing that mattered was if I got ice cream money on Tuesdays and if I could go with Eliza in the coming weekend. Eliza, that name stung the fresh wounds opened twenty some hours ago.

In my deep state of philosophy, which was forgotten as soon as it was uttered, Holly had snuck out from her room. Snapping out of it, I tried to pick up on what she had began to say, "… I don't know anymore, I'm sorry."

The girl appeared a wreck. Holly had her freshly dyed hair wrapped into a haphazard bun with mascara framing her cheeks like watercolor drips rather than bangs. Dark circles highlighted the red eyes as they peered down at her trembling arms. Needless to say, it didn't take that long to figure out what was happening. "Thank you for coming to tell me, that's very brave," I told her, getting up from my seat to turn on the lights.

"No I'm not!" Holly cried out as if someone had smacked her. Her chest was rising and falling, opposite to the rain that was clearing up outside, "You don't know me!"

Holly ran her fingernails up and down her exposed arms, digging into her flesh with her talons. Immediately, I held out my hands in a peacemaking motion, "Holly, please put your hands down to your sides…" I stumbled, not knowing where to go with that one.

She did, thankfully. Holly erupted into sobs, standing there with her head in her hands looking sorrowfully downwards, "I can't do this Flo," she repeated, rather calmly for the state she was in.

Shaking my head, I didn't want to touch her out of fear that it may trigger an emotion that would only add to the heap she was facing right now, but I wanted to hug her. Hugs were something everyone needed but couldn't exactly pinpoint why or when. "I'm weak," she added, "A lying, weak, fool," she spat out.

"No, you're a brave, kind, smart, funny, beautiful girl that has so much to offer," I tried to soothe her. When I heard the words escaping my mouth, it sounded like one of those statements my mom would follow with a 'but…' I wouldn't though because I wasn't like my mom, and Holly didn't need that right now.

"Get it out of my room," Holly removed her hands, her red eyes pleading with tears.

"What do I need to remove?" I questioned, trying to use a tone of voice that didn't sound demanding.

Holly shivered, gesturing to the open door, "It's in the top shelf, just please get it out. "

Cautiously walking away, I thought to ask another question to what it was and the location but Holly didn't present herself as fit to answer any more. So as I crossed the threshold, I feared the worse so I wouldn't have to be disappointed.

The room was uncannily tidy, aside from the bed and the papers lining the desk in a messy organized fashion. Searching through the top drawer of the dresser thoroughly, I saw nothing. I'd have to profile her.

Drawers could mean the chest, the kitchen, but as I peered under the bed I knew what she meant. There was a storage unit, one of the small stacking ones with compartments. Pulling that out, I opened the top drawer to reveal three stamps of heroin along with the needles and tourniquets.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: Alright lovelies! Time has come to say goodbye to Hallelujah. As soon as this chapter is uploaded, the final chapter will be posted. **

**As for the sequel, I'm going to hold off on posting it. Unless there's a lot of turnout. Please read the whole Author's Note. **

**Anyways, I'd really appreciate any sort of feedback. Without feedback, there's nothing I can do to make it better. I'm sure with the development of this new arc, a lot of people are going to leave, and that's fine. Just tell me in a review or a PM or something. This is crucial. If reviews are posted asking questions and pointing out areas that need work, I actually go back and edit the story. I did it for my other fanfic and I'll do it for this one. Even if you don't have anything bad to say, tell me what you disliked/liked about the fanfiction as a whole or whatever and what you think will happen in the sequel, or what you want to see. I hate to be a review whore, since I write for myself and can make exceptions because I also like to please an audience, but when I have no feedback from the audience, I have no basis to improve the entertainment. I'm not motivated to dump a lot of time into one project (especially one that might not even need a sequel) and not my personal projects when it doesn't serve the purpose of entertainment for both parties. **

**So.. I'll shut up now. Reviews would be heavily appreciated. I don't want to sound ungrateful because I'm not. I'm extremely grateful people supposedly find interest in my ramblings. But I don't know what to do to express that gratitude. **

**So, here's the story. **

* * *

_**"It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets." ~Voltaire**_

* * *

With little sleep and an extra pill, I rushed into the conference room with papers sticking out from a huge manila folder. Everyone on the team was surround the conference room with multiple pictures being tacked up, all faces I felt familiar with. Dead eyes seemed to criticize my movements. Those orbs in the paper judged me for having the ability to breathe when they had not been so fortunate. What was so special about me to make it out? They deserved as much as I did.

It wasn't a matter of being smart, cunning, or anything related to strategy. But, it had everything to do with the tragedy of young life being ripped in the most sadistic way from their clutches. "We've found a cell phone number to track, it's in Caroline county at the moment," Garcia whispered in her ear.

My eyes darted to the door. I had time to slip away. There was an instinct that told me to run, to take Holly with me somewhere under a fake name, and fly under the radar until Gates screwed up. Garcia retracted and began typing into her computer, trying to find real time coordinates.

Rubbing my temples, I realized how much of a mistake it had been to come here, but I knew how much of a mistake it was to leave. Instead of focusing on finding Gates, they'd have to find me. Right now though, my options really outweighed themselves with any sort of perks. I was going to have to run.

"Actually, Garcia, I think I have something at home that may help us on the search, it's a business card he gave me all the years back," I pointed towards the door, leaving the files that they needed on the table. "It's a 504 number right?" I raised my eyebrows in hope that I read it correctly.

Garcia nodded, glancing at Hotch who nodded his head, "Go ahead."

It was that easy, Aaron didn't even require me to go with anyone.

* * *

"Look," I clenched my teeth, tossing the duffel bag I had ripped from the closet to her, "We're leaving."

"What?" Holly shook her head, trying to process it all.

"We're leaving, pack some clothes, no metals," I demanded. My badge was discarded casually on the table along with the emeralds Spencer had given me. He could probably take them back and forget they ever existed.

Holly once again shook her head in defiance. "No, what the hell is wrong with you?" she seriously asked, not trying to be a teenage smart ass in any sense of the statement. It was only annoying me because she was that ignorant. Why could she understand that I'd never leave DC if it wasn't an emergency?

My teeth gritted, "It's life or death, we're leaving the house in thirty minutes," I snarled. Holly took the hint and retreated back to her room. She seemed to know when I said life or death, I meant it.

Running my hands through my hair, I ran up the steps two at a time, attempting to move as fast as physically possible. Once reaching the landing, I began throwing things that wouldn't pass airport security out of my go bag. There were a few shirts, a few pairs of pants, a new laptop, stuff that I knew I was going to need to be ready someday to escape. Fishing for my passport in the bedside table drawer, I sensed squeaky brakes outside. No. Not right now.

Zipping the bag closed, I called downstairs, "Holly we're leaving!" I bellowed, trying to see if I could avoid the man in the turquoise car and still get catch my flight. Rushing down the stairs, I sat the go bag on the couch and opened the door for Spencer.

"Gates could be here you know?" Spencer quipped, trying to instill the caution with fear I already possessed.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'll go with you to the crime scene, why don't you meet me there?" my eyebrows perched, wrapping my arms around his neck. This was most likely the very last time I'd see him.

His warm smile and innocent eyes melted my heart as he drew in for the kiss. Spencer was going to be betrayed yet again by someone he loved. First his father, now me. There was no excuse for what I was about to do to all of them, but I better find one so I can sleep at night. "Sure thing," he pulled away, smiling, blinded by the puppy love.

"See you then," I held the door open for him as he sheepishly waved. I had approximately an hour before I had to be on the plane at Dulles.

Once Spencer had disappeared down the street and into the rising sun, I dared to yell once more, "Holly!"

* * *

_**Review please, you don't even have to log in :)**_


	32. Epilogue

**A/N: I'm copying and pasting the last author's note here. This is very bittersweet, saying goodbye to this. **

**Anyways, I'd really appreciate any sort of feedback. Without feedback, there's nothing I can do to make it better. I'm sure with the development of this new arc, a lot of people are going to leave, and that's fine. Just tell me in a review or a PM or something. This is crucial. If reviews are posted asking questions and pointing out areas that need work, I actually go back and edit the story. I did it for my other fanfic and I'll do it for this one. Even if you don't have anything bad to say, tell me what you disliked/liked about the fanfiction as a whole or whatever and what you think will happen in the sequel, or what you want to see. I hate to be a review whore, since I write for myself and can make exceptions because I also like to please an audience, but when I have no feedback from the audience, I have no basis to improve the entertainment. I'm not motivated to dump a lot of time into one project (especially one that might not even need a sequel) and not my personal projects when it doesn't serve the purpose of entertainment for both parties.**

**So.. I'll shut up now. Reviews would be heavily appreciated. I don't want to sound ungrateful because I'm not. I'm extremely grateful people supposedly find interest in my ramblings. But I don't know what to do to express that gratitude.**

**So, here's the story. Thank you for the journey :).**

* * *

**_"Little by little_**  
**_If suddenly you forget me_**  
**_Do not look for me_**  
**_For I shall already have forgotten you." ~Pablo Neruda-"Selected Poems."_**

* * *

Rushing towards the villa, there were so many things that were different about this visit. Whether it be the modest clothes I wore, or the insane amount of guilt and hyper-vigilance, the scars that littered my body, and the teenager I had acquired since 'then,' the stagnant stimulation of the atmosphere refused to please me after the ten hour plane ride. Everyone was strolling leisurely from one place to the next, unlike me, who was speeding through the quiet ducklings of pedestrians like a bat out of hell.

I knew I was supposed to be heading somewhere, but I had to ignore all the tiniest details. It wasn't something I did when I was here last when I took in all of the vivacious color palettes like the trouble girl sitting gently in the passenger seat. Istanbul was going to be our new home more or less, considering no one found us.

"So, Gates is out to get you in the worst ways possible?" Holly questioned. For a person I thought was going to explode and lash out, she assimilated the information quite well. In fact, she was borderline pleased with the surrounding of the sea and culture, as a profiler would know.

Nodding my head, I swerved the bar angrily into the white park, braking immediately, leaving dark black marks on the pure mosaic tiles. "Shit," I muttered.

Ignoring that minor flaw, even though I had paid good money for those tiles, I popped the trunk of the rental car so Holly and I could get inside to the safety of a distant place no one knew about. Garcia wouldn't find them, Spencer didn't know, even Victor hadn't a clue. This was something that was premeditated and quite meticulous on her part. Either way, it kept Holly and I safe.

"My name is Nilay, and yours is Leila, from now on," I handed her a passport with a new name and her face on it. Holly gave me a bug eyed look and expected me to say something to excuse myself form the non-condonable action. There was nothing I hadn't used yet, and I wasn't the type to repeat the same lie, even if it was true.

The key fit into the door, and the stuffy inside proved to be hellacious. What should I expect? It's been four years for Christ's sake since I have been in the villa. Immediately, my eyes scanned for the cupboard beneath the stairs.

Resorting there, I grabbed an assault rifle and began shoving in rounds. Holly cringed. "I'm not here to kill you; I could've done that at home. I'm just checking to see if the bullets are right."

_Fin._

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_****__"What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from." T.S. Elliot_

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**Alright, I'm going to post a chapter on this story when I have the sequel up- so don't worry about it. **

**Anyone pick up on the last quote? *Hint* it was used very early on in the story.**

**Anyways, if you'd be so kind to deliver feedback, could you rate the story? OCs and Spencer are very predictable and abundant... I want to know where I score on the scale of OCs and relationships- don't hold back. I rather have something honest than sugar-coated-until-barely-edible. **

**Thank you for the journey! It's been a long trip that isn't over quite yet. **


	33. Sequel (editted)

When Florence ran away from the team with her niece, she left nothing behind except a past that compromised her future. With the team trying to locate her, her closest confidant is having a troubled mind, full of contradictions that have never past his perspective. Will love finally drive him mad?

The sequel to Hallelujah-"Malibu"- is up.

Link: s/8613463/1/Malibu


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